


Let Me Know if It Gets Above a Six

by Sundial_at_Night



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Avenger Loki (Marvel), BAMF Loki (Marvel), BAMF Tony Stark, Broken Bones, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Doombots, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Good Loki (Marvel), Hatred, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Leaving out some tags to avoid spoilers :), Loki & Peter Parker Friendship, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Lives, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is Not Amused, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Magic, Magical Accidents, Museums, Natasha Romanov Lives, No Slash, No Smut, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Sif (Marvel) Friendly, Not Spider-Man: Far From Home Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Permanent Injury, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Loki (Marvel), Protective Tony Stark, Protectiveness, Some Humor, Some Plot, Teen Peter Parker, Telepathic Wanda Maximoff, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Lives, Trials, United Nations, chapters that get progressively longer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:42:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundial_at_Night/pseuds/Sundial_at_Night
Summary: “Mr. Loki?” asked the Spider cautiously. “Aren’t you—like—a bad guy?” he asked, voice full of only curiosity, as far as Loki could tell.His first thought was,yes.His second thought wasno.His third thought was,sometimes?“It varies from moment to moment,” Loki answered honestly, prying his eyes open after they threatened to fall close.“But on a scale of one to ten, where are you at right now?”“Maybe a three?”The Spider-child nodded. “Cool,” he replied. “Let me know if it gets above a six.Or: Five times Peter Parker was there for Loki when it 'got above a six', and one time he wasn’t.
Relationships: Loki & May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Loki & Peter Parker, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Loki & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 218
Kudos: 1433





	1. Introductions + Six

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Endgame, the only important things that you need to know are that Loki and the other Asgardians were revived as well when Bruce snapped, and that (somehow, I’m not going for specifics) Tony survived using the Stones to destroy Thanos. That’s it. Thanks for the click!
> 
> Inspired by this [text post.](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/661325526523445236/)
> 
> Also: I’m leaving snippets in the endnotes because I don’t know where else to put them and they fit in nowhere.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Peter meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little angst followed by a little fluff.

_"I need you now but I don't know you yet"_

_-Alexander 23 "IDK you yet"_

* * *

_Introductions_

The first time he had seen her was at Stark’s tower, after the battle against the Titan. It was the calm that came after the storm. Peaceful. Stark and the Captain were in medical, recovering. The former’s arm was beyond saving, Loki thought; he would live, but the arm would never feel again. If he got to keep it at all, that was. So, he was still unconscious and would be for a while.

The other—the Captain—was mainly suffering from ‘blunt force trauma’ as the mortals called it, though, he did have a healing factor with which to speed along his progress.

Of the remaining Avengers, Romanoff was no longer with them; Loki had not seen the red-haired assassin anywhere during the battle or afterwards. The Hawk—Barton—was with his family two floors below. And Banner was mostly all right, except for the arm which held the Infinity Stones for a time. According to the Midgardians, that would leave lasting damage.

Finally, there was his brother, who was sitting at Loki’s left on the narrow and stiff chairs of the waiting room. His head was leaned over onto Loki’s shoulder in a somewhat awkward position, fast asleep after the adrenaline rush of fighting. Loki was silently grateful for that; Thor’s leaning on him was likely the only thing keeping him from implanting a dagger in someone’s eye.

More specifically, _Nebula’s eye._

The Guardians of the Galaxy (honestly, could the titles _get_ any worse?) were one floor above them on the balcony. Nebula had come down for something (to check on Stark’s progress, Loki thought), and it was all he could do not to lurch upwards and murder her.

She looked different. Since the last time he had seen her, she had gained a few new mechanical parts and replaced a few others. It didn’t matter, his mind told him. Nebula was a _threat._

Only… she _wasn’t._

Thor leaning on him was the only thing that prevented the instinctual reaction. Deduction for more information was what kept him firmly planted in his seat. See, the Avengers had just defeated the Mad Titan—at great cost, and with great difficulty, but they _had_ defeated him. So, if a daughter of Thanos was in their midst, why were they not more focused on apprehending _her?_

Because they were not _concerned_ with her.

Whether that was because she had switched sides or was a completely different version of herself from one of those alternate timelines— _whatever_ the reason—it didn’t matter. Because if Earth’s mightiest heroes ( _mightiest_ was not saying all too much. Again, _titles_ ) did not concern themselves with her, why should Loki?

It did not stop him from eyeing her warily as she made her way across the room to confront the Doctor, asking after Stark. She received the same answer as everyone else: “He’ll live, but we’re not out of the deep end yet.” Or different versions of Midgardian idioms that meant something similar (honestly, all of their conversations were encoded with hints of pop culture and reference. To what, Loki discovered, even many humans did not know).

In any case, that was when Nebula spun on her heel and stalked out of the room to rejoin the Guardians. She did not notice Loki, as far as he knew. If she did, she did not act on the observation. So, she left, and Loki felt the tension bleed out of his body. First, all at once, then in small increments as he forced himself to relax.

Naturally, _just_ as his eyes fluttered close, that was when a small voice perked up from his other side. Two seats away, sat Stark’s Spider-child, wearing a grey hoodie that was far too large for him and sweatpants that had to be borrowed from someone else.

“Mr. Loki?” asked the Spider cautiously. He was leaning over the armrests with wide eyes.

“Just Loki,” he mumbled, only half-certain that the words were coherent. That was a concern.

“Aren’t you—like—a bad guy?” he asked, voice full of only curiosity, as far as Loki could tell.

His first thought was, _yes._

His second thought was, _no._

His third thought was, _sometimes?_

There was no clear answer. New York… wasn’t him, but that did not mean he was not at least _partly_ responsible for the death and destruction that resulted from it. Still, he fought the Titan where it most counted, so he would take that as a point away from ‘bad guy’ status. 

Then there was Jotunheim, which was… complicated. Not that everything else _wasn’t_ complicated, just that the near elimination of his own species was more so because it was _him._ In his right mind, not Thanos’ tampering or _persuasions._ No, that was _him._

What was also _him,_ was his last desperate attempt to save Thor’s life on the _Statesman._ It had gotten him killed, and now, he was back. Again.

So, there was no single answer.

“It varies from moment to moment,” Loki answered honestly, prying his eyes open after they threatened to fall close.

“But on a scale of one to ten, where are you at right now?”

Loki thought about it. Moments prior, it likely would have been a six, maybe a seven. Now, with Nebula gone and the Spider-child offering sufficient distraction, that number was significantly lower. “Maybe a three?” he offered with a slight tilt of his head.

The Spider-child nodded. “Cool,” he replied lightly, smiling a little. “Let me know if it gets above a six. I’m Peter, by the way,” he added abruptly, extending his hand.

Loki limply shook it with his right. His whole arm felt like slush. Both of them did, really. “Nice to meet you,” he said, voice slurring sluggishly. Sleep sounded absolutely _wonderful_ right about now, despite him still wearing his dirtied armour.

Eyelids heavy, his last thought before drifting off was, _I like him._

* * *

_Six_

The second time he saw her was also at Stark’s tower, about a week after everything had settled down somewhat. The Avengers were still recovering in the Tower. Stark had yet to wake, and when that would eventually happen, he would still be confined to a wheelchair for another couple of weeks. The Captain was attempting to hobble around, supported strongly by his friend with the metal arm. After a few steps, he had been banished to the dubbed ‘Sofa of Shame’. Banner was also on the Sofa of Shame, after attempting unconsciously to open a door with his ruined arm, breaking the sling and setting his progress back by days—maybe a week.

The Guardians were there as well, their ship parked on the helicopter pad of the Tower. One of their members preferred to always remain with the ship, but the rest enjoyed wandering around the Tower until they got bored and started wandering around the city. According to Thor, after having been banned from twelve bars, seven restaurants, and four theatres, the Guardians had decided to expand their radius to the rest of the country and then to the rest of the world. Things only escalated from there. Banned from thirty states, seven European countries, and all of Asia (and counting), they had confined themselves to the Tower. Which was probably a good idea because it had only been _one week._

Unfortunately for Loki, all of this meant that the Luphomoid was in his vicinity far more than he was comfortable with. And, being banned (though not officially) from… most of Earth… he was lacking options on where to go when she was around.

The Guardians trusted her. The Avengers trusted her. Hel, his _brother_ trusted her, if only because the raccoon did. There was no sensible reason for his urge to flee, just… she was _there._ Her very presence brought up unpleasant memories of a time he would not talk about for any reason. Not even so that he could remain on Earth. That part of his life was… 

That was his business to tell.

So, he avoided her like the plague, hiding in Thor's room (Loki didn’t have one) until he was sure she was gone, and sticking to his brother when he could not. Eventually, there did come a time when he could no longer avoid the problem, and that was right now.

Thor was in the training room, sparring with the Captain's metal-armed friend. _Bucky,_ he thought his name was. The fight was evenly matched. Somewhat. Loki could tell when his brother was holding back, and this was one such occasion. No weapons were involved; Stormbreaker was off to the side leaning against the wall, and… Loki wasn’t sure if the metal arm counted as a weapon.

That was when the Guardians entered, all at once in a big group that stampeded over anything that got in their way (if their little adventure in Disneyland was any indication. Loki didn’t know what “Disneyland” was, but he could make a decent guess). The raccoon was at the forefront of the group, yelling something to Thor that distracted him for a moment long enough for Bucky to get him in the stomach.

But Loki wasn’t really paying attention anymore. No, his eyes were fixed solely on the woman hovering by the doorway, blocking his exit. He shuffled closer to the bench on the opposite wall. Thor had asked him to stay—they were supposed to spar together later on. He couldn’t just _leave_ without an explanation.

So, Loki sat there and waited. And waited. And the sparring continued and the Luphomoid did not move. The guardians took up a spot on the other end of the bench, chattering away and making commentary on the fight. But all of that was background noise—just a mix of jumbled sounds—because she was _right there._ By the door. Too close.

_Too. Damn. Close._

That was when another entered the room, pushing past Nebula and squeezing around the huddled Guardians to take up a seat two to the right of Loki, putting himself between him and Nebula.

“Hi, Mr. Loki!” said Stark’s Spider-child with an enthusiastic wave. His lips were tilted up into a bright smile, which was odd. Why would anyone—never mind.

“Just Loki,” he replied through half-gritted teeth. It wasn’t the child. It wasn’t the incorrect form of address, just—

Nebula was _right there._

“Oh,” said the human quietly, crossing his legs. He almost looked apologetic. “Sorry about that. Where are you at right now?”

Loki gave him a puzzled look, eyebrows lowered, and replied: “Right beside you?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” the Spider said frantically, the words slurred together. Under his breath, he muttered, “I forget you guys aren’t from Earth.” Aloud; “It’s just an expression—means how are you doing. Like, between one and ten.”

Recalling their earlier conversation, Loki looked between the Spider-child and the Luphomoid, watching her with wary eyes as she leaned against the wall by the door. No, she was getting closer now, joining the conversation of the rest of the Guardians.

Thor was still there, in the training ring. He wouldn’t let her attack him and the Avengers trusted her, but… 

“Six,” Loki replied, swallowing. “It’s hovering around a six right now.”

Surprisingly, the child neither asked why nor pressed for any details. He only responded with a question: “Have you ever been to a museum?”

* * *

In hindsight, this was probably one of his bad decisions. Yeah, he was making a lot of those recently—taking on the Vulture alone, hitchhiking on an alien spaceship, and most of all, _dying._ Aunt May was never going to let him hear the end of it for those last two. (Even though, in Peter’s opinion, they were not mutually related. In his defence, the Snap would have taken him whether or not he was on an alien planet). Despite all of that, this somehow _still_ managed to take the cake.

What was he _thinking_ inviting the God of Mischief to a museum?

First, Tony was going to kill him. Then Aunt May. Then Pepper (Oh boy, did _Pepper_ scare him). Of course, all of this was given that _Loki_ didn’t kill him before any of them got the chance. Which was—

What was he thinking?

 _Was_ he thinking?

_I think you know the answer to that, Parker._

_No. The answer is no._

To make things worse, instead of backing out slowly like a sensible person, Peter decided to actually go through with it. So now, he and Loki were walking down the windy streets of New York—dressed in normal clothes (kind of. A suit was normal, right?), which he had to admit looked a little strange on the Asgardian—in the direction of Central Park. Well, more specifically, towards the Met Museum.

 _Funny,_ Peter thought. Only a week (five years) ago he was on a bus headed towards MoMA. Now he was walking towards a different museum with an _actual_ Norse god. Maybe he didn’t think that one through. 

No, he _definitely_ didn't think that one through.

Actually, would the museum even be _open?_ It had only been a week since Bruce snapped everyone back into existence. Honestly, he wouldn’t blame the museum-folk if they didn’t have everything together just yet. And Loki was, like, a _thousand_ years old. He’d probably _lived_ through more than half the stuff there. Just—this was a terrible, _terrible_ idea.

It was sunny outside, not a hint of bad weather in the air, but it was chillingly cold with the wind and the skyscrapers of downtown casting long shadows on the pavement. Peter read an article about that once—street canyons or something, it was called. They caused the wind to be stronger because of the air pressure when the streets narrowed and opened. Like the breaststroke. Open, closed, moving forwards.

And that was not at _all_ relevant.

He had a coat on anyway, so the wind wasn’t so bad, and even though the air was smoggy (typical New York) it was marvellously familiar.

Peter kept walking, occasionally glancing at Loki nervously. The supervillain just kept walking beside him, looking around at the city. Nobody else on the crowded streets of New York seemed to recognize him, which was a good thing. He did _not_ need to deal with that right now because Mr. Stark would ground him for twice his lifetime if any villainy occurred. 

But there was no turning back now.

To Loki’s visible disappointment, the museum was _not_ open. The door was blocked with yellow tape and a sign that declared their opening date to be a few weeks from today. The exterior of the building looked different from how Peter remembered. It looked worn, dirty—like someone had not taken care of the architecture for the full five years that he was dead. Which was probably true.

“We could break in,” the god suggested, waving a hand at the door. His fingers shimmered green for a moment, and Peter felt his heart skip a beat.

_He’s going to break down the door!_

“Um, no,” Peter quickly objected, shaking his head vehemently. “We are not breaking into _anywhere._ We have to do something _legal.”_ Emphasis on the _legal_ part.

Loki took a deep breath and slumped forward slightly, looking disappointed, but the light on his hands faded.

_Oh, good._

_No B &E today. _

After a tense moment of silence, the god asked, “Then what do you suggest we do?”

Peter shrugged, thinking of options. Most of—well— _everything_ was closed. Central Park was an option, but he honestly didn’t know if Loki would want to go there. There wasn’t much to do in the park save for walking around and talking. Holding an extended conversation with the god didn’t really seem… _doable._ Besides, the park was littered with trash; Peter had been earlier in the week and seen it for himself. So no, not a good choice.

“Have you ever had a hot dog?”

_A hot dog. Really, Parker?_

Loki’s lips thinned. “I can’t say that I have.” He probably didn’t even know what it was. It was not like the name was very descriptive.

“Let’s go find a hot dog stand. There’s gotta be something around here.” Peter skipped down the steps, nearly tripping on the last one, which was embarrassing, but oh well. His sticky feet caught him at the last possible second, so he _didn’t_ fall flat on his face in front of the God of Mischief. _That_ would have been bad. Not that this situation wasn’t already bad. He was looking for hot dogs with _Loki._

Turning his attention back to the street, and quickly making sure that Loki was still behind him, Peter looked for any sign of a nearby hot dog stand.

Spoiler alert: there was nothing. Peter was sure—absolutely one-hundred percent sure—that there was a hot dog stand outside the Met Museum. It was not there. He could have sworn… Never mind. They would have to find something else.

‘Something else’ turned out to be bagels, huge fluffy bagels with cream cheese and smoked salmon and capers. The bagel place was quaint, nestled in between Avengers Tower and Central Park, which was good because they wouldn’t have too far to walk once this was over. It smelled like fish and bread and lemons, for some reason. In all honesty, though, Peter was just grateful that _something_ was open.

There were a few others in the shop, the tables were mostly empty, and the majority of the people inside looked to be waiting for take-out. So, they had found a seat pretty quickly by the window, watching the people as they walked by as they waited for their bagels in dim lighting and awkward silence.

When they arrived, Loki _loved_ them, and once again, Peter was astounded at how much Asgardians could eat. “Dude,” said Peter— _and did he really just call Loki ‘dude’?_ “You ate, like, four of those. How are you not full?”

Loki put down the fourth bagel, and replied after swallowing, “Humans are different from others, but for most creatures in the Nine, the longer you are away from your realm of birth, the less energy you can take from it.”

“So, you need more food to make up the difference?” Peter filled in, curiosity growing. What? Space aliens were interesting. They were _aliens._ How could he _not_ ask a few questions? He leaned forward with his elbows on the table and chin resting in his palms.

Loki tilted his head side to side, then vanished most of the wrapping paper with a wave of his hand. Peter looked around the shop anxiously to see if anybody noticed, but they didn’t even bat an eye at the… magic? Or was magic preventing them from seeing it too?

“Somewhat,” he averred with a nod. “More so for beings with seiðr—you would call it magic—such as myself and Thor. Less so for those without.”

“Thor can do magic?” asked Peter, eyes widening. He had seen the lightning, but _magic?_ Never anything like what Loki did, vanishing things just by pointing at them.

“What did you think the lightning was?”

Oh.

Right.

_Obviously._

“I don’t know,” he replied sheepishly, wiping his fingers on the napkin on his lap. “Powers? Didn’t think it was _magic.”_

“The forms of magic are different, but it is still seiðr.”

“What else can you do with magic?” Peter asked, returning to his horrible table manners. “I mean, the lightning is cool and everything, but I’ve never seen anything more than that. So. Magic is real. That is too cool. What can you do?”

Loki blinked at him once, face lighting up into a cheerful grin. Then he answered with a question of his own: “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” he said animatedly. But for now, only; “Can you conjure objects?”

“In what way?”

“Like, make them come out of nowhere,” Peter elaborated, tossing his crumpled napkin into a garbage can in the corner. He only narrowly got it in.

“Depends,” answered Loki with a careful smile, leaning back in his chair and gesturing somewhat randomly with his right hand. “I can make objects appear—” he summoned a pen (for a moment, Peter thought it was a knife and felt his heart skip a beat) “—and disappear.” The pen vanished in a ripple of air.

“Cool.” He smiled, watching it, and ignoring how his brain screamed that magic defied every known law of science. “But can you _make things?”_

Loki’s brows narrowed and his light smirk disappeared. “Why?” he asked, suspicious.

“Because I forgot my wallet, and we haven’t paid yet.”

His head fell forward, and Peter could tell he was trying not to laugh with the way his shoulder shook, though his face gave none of that away.

“What?” Peter cried indignantly. “Those bagels are twelve dollars _each._ I don’t carry that much cash in my pockets.”

“You said,” recalled Loki, chuckling, “that we would only do _legal_ activities.”

“That was before I owed sixty dollars in bagels.”

Loki sighed, still smiling. “I suppose I could make a passable imitation if I knew what your currency looked like.”

“I only have fives,” Peter said slowly, taking the crumpled bills out of his back pocket. He was not about to hand the cashier twelve five-dollar bills—because that would be weird.

“Fantastic,” Loki muttered dryly. “Are you sure we may not simply leave?”

“No.”

Loki huffed, “Fine. I’m calling my brother.”

 _Wonderful._ Because another Norse god at a bagel shop who couldn’t understand the first thing about how money worked was _exactly_ what they needed right now.

Loki pulled out a phone from… _nowhere…_ and brought it to his ear after a few taps.

“I thought you guys couldn’t use cell phones,” Peter noted, squinting.

“They’re relatively simple devices,” Loki replied, shrugging as the line rang on the other end. “Thor has only never bothered to learn.”

Ah. Well, that explained it. Thor couldn’t use the toaster in Avengers Tower. That was common knowledge because the last time he had tried, the kitchen caught on fire. The sprinklers put it out, thankfully, but nobody knew _how_ it had happened in the first place. Peter just assumed it was an Asgardian thing. Guess not. Thor was just bad with toasters.

“Brother,” Loki said into the phone, not missing a beat. “I need—” he looked at Peter and mouthed, _'how much?’_

Peter did the math in his head in less than a second: “Sixty-two dollars and seventy cents.”

Loki repeated the number into the phone, and Peter thought he heard, _“What for?”_

“Bagels,” the god replied, tone completely flat, but he was smirking as if he could already guess Thor’s reactions.

_“Bagels?”_

“Yes.”

_“Bagels?”_

“Are you going deaf? Yes, _bagels.”_

Peter stifled a laugh.

_“Brother, why?”_

Loki replied without answering the question: “I am with Stark’s Spider-child.”

_Why does everyone think that?_

“You know,” said Peter matter-of-factly, raising a pointed finger. “I’m not actually his—”

_“Yes, Tony was looking for him earlier.”_

Mr. Stark was looking for him? Wait. That meant—

That meant Tony was awake. _Tony was awake._ They had to get back to the Tower!

“Mr. Stark’s awake?” he asked, leaning forward half over the table. His voice was loud enough to carry through, though not loud enough for the other customers scattered around the shop to hear.

_“Yes.”_

“We have to go—”

Loki raised his other arm—the one that wasn’t holding the phone—above his head and snapped once. A moment later, Peter was standing in the common room of the Tower, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. That was… nauseating. The floor felt like it was moving beneath his feet and the whole room was _swirling._ That wasn’t good.

His spider-sense was all over the place, yelling at shadows that weren’t even there and insisting vehemently that there was a threat right on top of him. There wasn’t. It was just being annoying.

He fell backwards onto the ‘Sofa of Shame’, as had been dubbed by the Avengers. Everything was still spinning. “What—” he half-slurred incoherently. “Where are we?”

Peter thought he saw Loki walk towards the elevator on the other side of the room, but everything was still blurry, whirling. He couldn’t make out shapes, but the sound of his voice from over there helped in pinpointing his general location.

“The Tower,” Loki replied, unmoving. “Stark is two floors up.”

Peter pulled himself from the couch. The room was no longer spinning quite as severely, but it still was not _comfortable._ He made his way on shaky legs to the elevator, where Loki was waiting for him. Where had everybody gone? This room was packed when they left. A light _ding_ sounded as the doors opened down the middle, and the two entered wordlessly.

It was a short ride, no more than seven seconds, but the silence was terse and awkward.

Another chime dinged as the doors parted for them a second time, revealing the waiting room and all the Avengers plus a few others.

Clint was sitting on the counter, talking to Wanda who was right beside him, though standing. Captain Rogers was sitting with Falcon and the Winter Soldier in the middle of the room. They were quietly laughing about something. Bruce, Thor, and the Guardians were by the floor-to-ceiling window on the opposite side of the room, being their usual rowdy selves. 

Peter was so focused on the chaotic scene that he almost didn’t notice Pepper coming up beside him. “Tony’s awake,” she said, smiling at him, and Peter could see the welling tears in her eyes. “He’s asking for you.”

He just nodded and let Pepper pull him towards a door on the right, vaguely aware of Thor calling after Loki, asking about the bagels.

_Crap!_

_The bagels!_

_They didn’t pay for the bagels._

_Peter’s dead. He’s dead. He did a dine ‘n dash over sixty dollars’ worth of bagels._

_May’s going to kill him._

_Then Tony, probably._

_If he’s awake enough for that._

The door swung open, and Peter shuffled through awkwardly. Colonel Rhodes was already inside, standing beside the hospital bed where Tony lay. He was wearing a T-shirt—probably one of Tony’s by the band logo on the front—and dark blue jeans under the leg brace.

Mr. Stark looked _terrible,_ and that was an understatement. The bed was bent slightly so that he could sit up, and Peter saw the full damage the Stones had done on him. His arm was wrapped entirely in bandages, and he could _still_ see the burn marks trailing over his shoulder. There was wrapping around his torso too—his ribs. Beyond that, there were dozens of small scratches and bruises that had yet to completely heal.

His lower body was completely covered by a blanket, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt, exposing the large misshapen scar from the arc reactor.

“Hey, kid,” said Mr. Stark, though it was more like a whisper and hardly audible. His eyes were still closed, so Peter couldn’t tell how he had known it was him.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter breathed in relief. His vision was blurring, but the dizziness of Loki’s teleportation spell—or whatever it was—was wearing gone. He stepped closer to the bed until he was right next to it, debating whether or not to sit. Probably not. His voice caught in his throat as he tried: “I’m sorry. I—”

“You ‘ave n’thin to ‘pologise for,” he slurred, wincing slightly. Should he even be awake? He should be resting, right? “‘N it’s _Tony._ We’ve been o’er this.”

“Right. Sor—” he caught himself at the last second. 

_Nothing to apologise for._

_Yeah, right._

Tony nearly _died._

“You ‘kay?” asked Tony, eyelids cracking open, only to shut closed again.

 _The light,_ some part of his brain reminded him. _It’s the light._ The room was already dim, but after no exposure to any light for a week, Peter guessed even the low glow of the overheads was too much.

“I’m fine.” That was _mostly_ true. He’d had a few injuries after the battle outside the Compound, but his healing factor had taken care of them pretty quickly. “How are you feeling?”

Tony tried to shrug, then made a noise between a grunt and a wince as his shoulder jostled. “I’ll live,” he said through clenched teeth.

Well, _that_ was not saying much.

“My arm’s toast, but ‘m gonna make a new one. Or s’mthing. Dunno yet.”

Pepper swung around to the other side of the bed and rested a hand on his good shoulder. “You can worry about building prosthetics later,” she said softly. “Just rest, for now.”

Tony gave something that resembled a nod and hummed wearily.

Colonel Rhodes briefly left the room to inform the others about Tony’s status, then returned immediately after. Pepper didn’t leave Tony’s side, holding his hand and occasionally offering a comforting glance in Peter’s direction.

Peter pulled up an armchair from the corner of the sparsely decorated room, curled up, and fell asleep to the sound of Tony’s and Pepper’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Peter visited the bagel shop, wallet in one hand and a sincere apology note in the other. He hadn’t meant to disappear, just—Tony was awake, and at the moment, that had been all that mattered. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure that it was his fault Loki had taken him out of the shop with a snap of his fingers, and _without_ paying for the food.
> 
> The clerk opened the door. Her hair was brown, straight, and down to her shoulders, and she was wearing a blue apron that had the company’s logo on the front. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
> 
> “Um,” Peter stuttered, collecting his thoughts. “I was here yesterday, and my friend and I left without paying because a friend of ours just woke up. He was in a coma. So sorry.” He handed her the money.
> 
> “Oh yeah,” said the clerk, casually waving him off. “Your buddy already took care of it.”
> 
> “Really?” _Why would Loki—_
> 
> “Yeah. Came by just before closing yesterday. No need to worry. It’s fine.”
> 
> Oh.
> 
> Okay then.
> 
> _Cool._
> 
> Peter took a bagel to go.


	2. Seven (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which my brain implodes as I try to figure out how the UN works, only to give up and freeform it anyway. Assume that none of the legal stuff is actually accurate.
> 
> In case it was unclear, there are two sevens. The second seven comes next week. From there, the count up continues.  
> This chapter is complete chaos. In other words: “what’s a plot diagram?” Enjoy.

_"If only we knew the things we know"_

_-Tall Heights "Spirit Cold"_

* * *

_Seven_

“You had bagels with a _supervillain?”_ Ned whispered incredulously, keeping the volume down to a minimum. May’s footsteps sounded behind them; she was baking (or attempting to bake) muffins. His eyes were wide and full of either admonition or admiration. Peter couldn’t tell.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, looking over his shoulder briefly at May, who hadn’t noticed Ned’s exclamation. The news droned on in the background, drowning out their conversation. That was how they got on the subject in the first place. Something about Loki’s UN trial or hearing or… whatever it was. “Don’t tell—”

“I know,” Ned cut in smoothly, keeping his voice down. “Don’t tell May.” His eyes drifted toward the TV, which was sitting on their little TV stand against the wall, opposite the couch. On the screen, a reporter was talking; Peter didn’t know her name. The bolded headline across the bottom read, _‘United Nations Trial of Loki of Asgard’._ That had begun this morning and looked to still be in progress.

“Thanks,” Peter breathed, slumping slightly against the back of the couch.

It had been a little over a month since the battle against Thanos—a few weeks (years) since he had been on an alien planet. Peter had given Ned the full story, all of which he thought was ‘so cool’.

They were sitting on the couch after having watched all the trailers for the next season of _Star Wars: The Clone Wars._ Now, with not much else to do, they idly chatted as Ned took a bit of a break from his family. His dad had ‘blipped’ (what a terrible name), and his mom had remarried over the five-year gap. It was causing some tension, to say the least.

“Did he try to kill you?”

“What?” Peter lowered his eyebrows and shook his head rapidly. “No.” It honestly surprised him a little too. Loki hadn’t done anything. He’d even paid for the bagels. Why on Earth he would do that, Peter did not know.

“Come on, that would have been awesome, dude.”

No, very, very _not_ awesome.

“If you got to take on a supervillain single-handedly.”

“Uh, _no.”_

“Uh, yes! You could totally take him.”

Peter huffed. “Dude, I could barely take on the _Vulture_ alone; it took all six Avengers to bring down Loki.”

“True, true.”

“Hey, Ned,” May called from the kitchen as she pulled the muffin tray out of the oven. It was steaming, not smoking, which was a good sign (probably?). No smoke alarms had been set off yet. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

Ned shrugged lightly, standing up from the couch. “Thanks, May,” he said, “but I should probably be getting back soon. It’s already…”

“Five,” Peter supplied, standing as well.

“Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ned picked his backpack off the floor by the entrance, and gave a quick wave. He flicked up his hood before ducking out the door.

“So, what do you want for dinner?” asked May, closely examining the muffins. They didn’t look burnt. Wow. Peter was officially impressed. “We have—” she took one large step towards the fridge and opened it “—absolutely nothing.” The fridge was empty save for one large jug of milk, some ketchup, and one slice of days-old pizza. “Want to eat out?”

“May,” Peter sighed, flopping onto the back edge of the couch. “Nothing’s open.”

“Right.”

She looked around the kitchen, lips turned down.

“Pizza?” she suggested, flashing her teeth in a half-smile.

“Again?” They’d had pizza twice this week already, and it was only Wednesday.

“Got any better ideas?”

“No.”

They had pizza; half pepperoni for Peter, and half Hawaiian for May (how she could stand pineapple on pizza was beyond him).

As they were cleaning up (which only really involved wiping the crumbs off the table), Peter asked carefully: “Do you mind if I go out for a few hours?” It was only around six-ish. He had time.

“You mean as Spider-man?” May said as she unfolded and flattened the pizza box.

“Yeah. I might visit Mr. Stark too.”

She looked Peter in the eye, lips tilted down into a slight frown. “Okay. Just… call me if anything happens, and be home by ten.”

Peter fought a grin as he replied: “Got it,” and raced into his room to put on the suit.

Less than a minute later, he was swinging through the streets of Queens, looking for trouble or… just about anything else. There was plenty of trouble after the Vanished had returned. People had lost homes, loved ones, all their money. It had been total chaos for the first week as everyone panic-bought supplies and food, leaving next to nothing for a large majority.

By the time his phone read ‘7:00’, he had helped a few displaced people get to a food bank, most of which were running out of supplies. May was starting to organize a charity to do something about that.

Unfortunately, not everyone took the situation in stride, and a few even resorted to crime to keep floating. It was—Peter wanted to say _understandable_ but that wasn’t quite right. Stealing was wrong, especially from those who needed it, but at the same time, whoever was stealing had to be truly desperate to resort to that. It was complicated. Everything was now.

So, when he stopped the burglary of a smallish apartment near Queens Botanical Garden, he didn’t call the police. They were already overwhelmed as it was. Instead, he took them to the nearest food bank and made sure they got enough for at least a week. It was not what he was supposed to do, but it _was_ effective; he had never seen the same person try to steal twice.

Sometimes, Peter thought, bringing someone to ‘justice’ wasn’t always _justice._

It wasn’t their fault that the world was a mess.

At around eight, he started towards Avengers Tower, swinging through the air, and enjoying the rush of the free-fall before catching himself. It was pure _bliss._ There was a light wind, and the air held a slightly chilled note, probably because of the light rain, which had been persisting throughout the day. The sun only just began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with orange and red and purple.

Peter landed on the balcony near the top, having to sticky-climb the last few floors because it was one of the tallest buildings in the area. The lights flicked on when he opened the double doors. “Hey, FRIDAY,” Peter asked, looking around at the empty penthouse. “Where’s Mr. Stark?”

_“Two floors down, Mr. Parker.”_

“Cool.” Peter made his way to the elevator, and descended to the common room, which must be where everyone was hanging out. 

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and Peter only caught the last few words of someone asking: “—allowed to do that?”

The scene slid into view. Mr. Stark was half sitting half lying down on the leather sofa on the left with his arms crossed. The metal brace on his right looked out of place with his grey suit. Wanda and Thor were sitting on the other side, and Loki was pacing along the back floor-to-ceiling windows. It was odd, he thought, because Wanda looked like she was dressed for an office job, and Loki was wearing an all-black suit. Nobody noticed him entering.

Mr. Stark shrugged, looking at Thor, who must have asked the previous question. “Not usually,” he said, drawing out the vowels, “but then again, this isn’t a usual case.”

Loki snarled from the back: “I’ll have his head.”

Okay, _what?_

Tony threw his head back, and rolled his eyes. “That’s really _not_ the best way to get them to drop the charges.”

_Charges?_

“Forget the charges.”

“Brother—”

“What’s going on?” asked Peter, walking deeper into the room. All at once, four heads swivelled in his direction, mixed expressions on their faces. Mr. Stark looked tired, if he had to guess. Thor looked worried, probably about Loki, who looked like he was on the verge of murder, which was more than a little alarming. Wanda’s expression was… _icy._

Tony explained simply with a random hand gesture: “We just got back from the trial.”

Oh.

Right.

That was a thing. It explained Wanda and Loki’s clothing too.

“And?” Peter pressed, looking between them.

They were silent for a moment before Tony elaborated.

* * *

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Loki breathed, leaning back against the wall. He looked up at Thor, who slowly handed him a paper cup with a plastic lid. Tea. Tea was, decidedly, the best thing Midgardians had ever perfected. Sure, Asgard had its teas, but Midgard had warm tea, cold tea, sweet tea, savoury tea, and tea with squishy pearls of sugar _inside_ the tea. Humans could do some things right.

But he was becoming distracted.

“I know, but there isn’t another option,” Thor replied with a sigh, taking a seat on the bench on Loki’s right. He held a similar cup, but he’d probably ordered coffee. The hour was still early in the morning, and thus, caffeine was a must for his brother.

Loki frowned lightly, wrapping his fingers around the warm cup. It was a nice contrast to the cold air-conditioned building. “There is. I could live elsewhere in the Nine, visit New Asgard and—”

“But would you be happy, constantly avoiding Earth’s officials?”

“I could do it.”

“But you don’t _have to.”_ Thor took a sip of his coffee, hiding his expression.

Loki twisted the paper cup around in his hands. “I might,” he said hesitantly. “You know there’s a chance they will find me guilty.” The thought did not terrify him as much as it should have. There were plans in case of such a thing; he could leave the planet before they could so much as take the first step against him.

Thor objected adamantly, looking Loki in the eye: “You’re _not.”_

 _“They_ don’t know that.”

“They will.”

The overly large wooden door to their left opened, and a dark-skinned man with glasses came out to greet them. “They’re ready for you.”

* * *

“So?” asked Peter, eyebrows lowering at Mr. Stark, who had moved over on the couch. Peter took a place next to the billionaire across from Thor. “What’s the problem?”

“Ross was there,” Tony said simply, and Peter nodded in understanding. Mr. Stark _hated_ the man with a burning passion, and Peter could see why. Only a week after waking up, Ross showed up at the Tower, demanding the arrest of Captain America and all those who had helped him.

(Naturally, that was also when he spotted Loki, which began this whole trial mess in the first place.)

Honestly, in the aftermath of the first snap, everyone had completely forgotten about the Sokovia Accords, and they wanted to continue ‘forgetting’ about them until the end of time. Ross was not so keen on that idea.

Only, Thor had never met him (apart from the trial), and neither had Loki. So, what was with the sudden dislike?

Peter looked between Wanda, Thor, and Loki, the latter of whom was still pacing along the window. “I guess you don’t like him much either?”

Wanda’s eyes glowed red for a moment, looking positively _murderous._ She replied with anger in her voice: “I’m with Loki on this one.”

Peter looked at them nervously. If they wanted to… Ross would be toast in seconds. Thor could probably turn him into a heap of ash on the floor, Wanda could squish all of his organs ( _where did that dark idea come from?_ ), and Peter didn’t even want to _think_ about what Loki would do to him.

So, why were they all angry?

It was Thor who explained this time.

* * *

After all the court formalities were done with, Loki did not believe he could be more baffled by Midgardian traditions. Endless ceremonies and oaths that held little weight. It was beyond strange.

Thor sat in the audience a little behind and to the right of Loki, who stood alone at a small podium. The governments had wanted to incarcerate him before the trial, but a quick reminder—that he was only there and agreeing to this because he wanted to—had convinced them otherwise rather quickly. Hence, the lack of restraints or guards anywhere in the room save for the exits, which met the standard procedures.

There were seven judges lined up behind a tall desk on a raised platform, all wearing strange Midgardian robes to indicate their position. Loki did not know what it was with Midgardians and their bizarre outfits for different circumstances. The room was oval-shaped, with the judges’ platform in the front, opposite to the doors they entered by. It dipped down towards the centre, meaning the audience (other UN officials; some of the Avengers) had a clear view of both Loki and the Judges from their raised seats.

His tea rested on the podium. According to the infinitely long list of rules, he was not supposed to have anything to eat or drink, but a relatively simple illusion, and nobody knew the difference.

“The panel calls forth its first witness,” said the judge in the centre, a woman with curled black hair and thinly framed glasses. A door to the right opened to reveal— “Agent Barton of SHIELD.”

This was off to a poor start already.

Barton walked steadily to a small box on the left. He looked different from how Loki remembered him—more… _aged._ Well, that was what mortals _did._ He should not have been surprised. The SHIELD agent took a seat in the box, and pulled a small microphone forward.

Loki briefly looked behind him, sharing a look with Thor that said, _see? I knew this was a bad idea._

He did not dare make eye-contact with Barton.

His recount of events was startlingly unbiased, straightforward, and clear. The man covered everything from the moment Loki emerged in the research facility to the second he left for Asgard, omitting, of course, the time he had been controlled by the Sceptre. His expression remained carefully neutral throughout all of it.

Loki kept his tea warm, hiding behind his glamour to drink it, and refilling the cup at least thrice.

When he finished, the judge on the far left side of the panel, the furthest away from Barton, asked: “Were there any lasting effects of the Sceptre’s influence?”

The SHIELD agent tilted his head side to side. “Somewhat,” he answered timidly, and Loki forced himself not to react.

He had not—

He did not want—

There were not supposed to be. Yet, according to Barton, there _were._ It was intended to be a simple switch of loyalty, nothing more. He would not remember his time with Loki, would not have his memories altered or erased entirely. His relationships with others would be untouched, and his secrets would remain hidden. Loki had made an unforgivable mistake (which he had already done by taking the man’s free will in the first place).

What the Titan had done to his mind… he would not wish that on anyone else. Not even his worst enemies.

“Could you elaborate?” another judge asked. Loki was having a hard time keeping track of them. They were all so _ordinary_ and wearing the same thing. There was little way of differentiating them, and he had not bothered to learn their names.

Barton inhaled deeply, then let it out, and Loki recognized the look on his face. Like he was trying to detach himself from the situation.

 _There weren’t supposed to be_ —

“I had… flashes. Dreams. Couldn’t sleep well for a few months after.’

“Dreams of what?” pressed another.

He shuddered slightly—not visible enough for any in the far audience to see, but Loki was closer. “I think it was an asteroid,” Barton said doubtfully after a moment of odd silence, filled only by the sound of keyboards clicking from behind as the officials took their notes. His eyes were slightly glazed over, haunted. “There were… aliens. Grey skin, six fingers, hooded.”

Loki flinched and tried to keep the surprise off of his face.

_The Other._

_How had he seen the Other?_

— _an asteroid._

_Sanctuary._

He had seen parts of _Sanctuary._

Barton watched him with narrowed eyes, glassiness entirely faded. “You know what I’m talking about,” the SHIELD agent noted scathingly. He crossed his arms, and leaned forward, moving past the microphone. “Don’t you?”

Loki swallowed and gave a minute nod. “I apologize. You were not meant to see that.” Or anything else, for that matter. Had the other seen things as well? How much did he know?

He scoffed, “Didn’t think so,” and looked away. “Why were you afraid of him?”

Loki opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by yet another of the seven judges: “There will be time for other questions later. Thank you for your testimony, Agent Barton.”

* * *

“I still don’t understand what the problem is.”

Tony waved him off with a light shake of his head. “It wasn’t that.”

Loki shook his head, and halted his pacing to sit on the chair on Tony’s other side. “Mind control… is among the most heinous crimes. On any other realm, Agent Barton would have been in his full right to kill me.”

Thor sighed softly, expression softening: “Loki…”

“It’s true,” the younger Asgardian interrupted harshly. “You know it is.”

The older didn’t respond to that, just sank back into the couch with a vague expression of defeat.

“Though, Stark is correct. That was not the problem.”

* * *

They went through the rest of the Avengers, Fury, and a dozen other SHIELD agents before the judges summoned Thor to the little box. The others gave similar reports similar to Agent Barton; calm, unbiased, calculated.

Loki noted with a flash of realization that this trial would be _fair._ Their witnesses did not hate him for centuries of unrelated schemes and plots. The judges were not the council members, who had ever despised him for being able to see through their lies. They did not _know him,_ and somehow, that was better.

Stark filled his testimony with all of his usual personality quirks. He had driven the judges and most of the officials in the room half-mad by the time he left the little wooden box. Rogers’ was startlingly calm throughout it all. He did not have much to add. Unsurprisingly, it was Banner who had the most to add. The scientist had spent the most time with Loki aboard the _Statesman,_ and what he had to add mostly fell into Loki’s favour. Unfortunately, he also told of some things the others did not, not least among which was the utterance of the name, “Thanos,” which sent a ripple of confusion and dissent throughout the room.

Thor rose from his seat, and walked past Loki to the tiny wooden box on the right side of the panel. He filled it in its entirety; it almost looked claustrophobic in there, and Loki felt like laughing at the sight. The Mighty Thor squished into a little wooden box.

His brother, however, did not seem to care about the space issue, and answered all of their questions in full truth. For the most part, said questions were remarkably similar to those that had been asked of the other witnesses. That is until they seemed to understand that Thor would know much more about Loki’s actions _before_ coming to Earth.

Of course, they eventually reached those questions. Thor and Loki had been counting on it. “You insisted on returning Loki to Asgard to answer for his crimes,” one of the judges noted. “Why not allow the governments of Earth to oversee this process?”

Loki looked between the judge and his brother with wary eyes.

Thor swallowed, then said truthfully: “Because Loki had committed crimes against Asgard before coming to Earth.”

“Could you please elaborate?”

Thor stiffened, and crossed his arms, but kept his face blank, which Loki appreciated. “I fail to see how this is relevant.”

“We are just trying to get the bigger picture. If you could cooperate—”

“I _am_ cooperating,” he cut in. “What happened on Asgard is irrelevant.” The words were chosen with care, and Loki forced down a smile at his brother’s newfound tact. The light stress on ‘Asgard’. Yes, what happened on _Asgard_ was not relevant, but that excluded what happened after he fell, which was extraordinarily significant. The judges would pick up on the difference.

“Perhaps,” one granted, “but you have also said that he was missing for a year before arriving on Earth. Is that _relevant?”_

He nodded, easing slightly. “Yes.”

Loki inhaled deeply, and readjusted his feet. They were finally asking the right questions.

“What do you know of what happened during that year?”

“Not much, to be honest,” Thor answered nonchalantly with a light shrug. “Besides what Loki himself has told me, I have very little to add.”

“Well, we can start with what you _do_ know,” snarked the one in the centre.

The judge two places to the left asked: “Earlier, Dr. Bruce Banner mentioned that Thanos sent Loki to Earth to retrieve the Tesseract. Can you confirm this?”

Thor was biting the inside of his cheek. Loki could tell, though he imagined that few others could, given the distance. His blue eyes rose to meet Loki’s green from the few metres from the podium to the box. _What do you want me to say?_ they asked.

Loki laced his fingers together and rested them on top of the podium; a little signal they had come up with beforehand. _Yes._

“I can.”

It was like a shock wave rippled throughout the room, officials and judges murmuring in partial horror and partial disbelief. Loki kept his eyes pinned on the floor as he gnawed absently on the side of his tongue.

“Order!” called one of the judges, slamming something down on the table. Midgardian customs were strange. The room immediately fell silent. Turning to Thor, she asked: “Do you know _why?_ Why would this man, _your brother,_ aid _Thanos?”_

A few officials in the audience hurled random insults, curses. They must have lost someone to the Titan, thought Loki, blocking them out. Insults were nothing new to him. He grew up as a _seiðmaðr_ on _Asgard._

“Order!” the centre judged yelled again, and there was the sound of something coming down against the table again. Twice this time. Unlike before, it took a few moments, and a few more shouts to quiet the audience.

“Continue,” said another, nodding once.

“That is truly all I know for certain. Everything else…” he trailed, eyes settling on Loki, who kept his face carefully blank. “There is another here who would be able to provide a complete explanation.”

Loki fought a grin as the room descended into total chaos. Some called for his execution, which was also not new. He could feel the heated stares of others baring into his back.

“—God of _Lies_ —”

“—We can’t trust—”

“—Does this really matter?”

Another full minute of _“Order!”_ later, and Loki’s ears were ringing, both from the shouting, and from the banging, which was more than a little irksome at this point. He felt half tempted to place a silencing spell over everything just for some peace and quiet, and to ease his growing headache.

“On behalf of the United Nations, we would like to thank you for your testimony. The final witness will be called to the box now. Loki of Asgard, if you please?”

As expected, there was a great deal of shouting that followed him to the little wooden box. He brushed shoulders with Thor on his way there, fabric rustling. If any noticed, they did not comment on it.

“First and foremost,” said the judge in the centre of the panel, “we understand the unique nature of your… disposition.”

Loki blinked, but could not say that he felt any hint of surprise. “You mean to say you have no means of telling if I am honest?”

“You can hardly blame us. You are known as the ‘God of Lies’ and ‘Silvertongue’,” one noted. “If any could lie to a room full of people, it would be you.”

Loki tilted his head in acknowledgement. The judge was not wrong, but he also did not realize that telling the truth worked out in his favour in this situation. “I assume you need assurance that I will speak truthfully?”

The judge on the far end said vaguely: “We have ways of knowing.”

“Such as?”

On cue, a familiar head of red hair entered the room from the same door as the other witnesses. Ah. _Interesting._

“I thought you had died,” Loki said, bemused, as he eyed the agent suspiciously.

She hummed. “I thought so too.”

“And you’re here to—what? Evaluate me?”

She smiled; it looked pinched. “Something like that.” Romanoff took a seat only a few feet from the box, between him and Thor, who just nodded. _Well._ This was certainly an unforeseen development. A SHIELD agent returning from the dead to confirm the truth of his testimony. Unexpected, perhaps, but not unwelcome.

The judge closest to him, a man with greying hair and deep wrinkles, began the first line of questioning: “I believe we have gone over the events that transpired on Earth enough times to have a clear understanding of them. A full recount will not be necessary, however, if you have anything to add, now is the time.”

Loki breathed in deeply, and spared a glance in Thor’s direction. His brother gave a nod, though it was hardly noticeable. _You can,_ it said.

He let out the breath, and started. He had very much to add.

* * *

“Okay. What then?” Peter asked, tiring of the partial explanations. This story had better come to its conclusion soon because, at this rate, he was going to miss curfew.

“That was not standard procedure,” Loki noted, curiously looking at Mr. Stark. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Was it?”

_Was what?_

Tony shook his head, lowering his eyes. “It was not.”

Wanda appended: “Neither was what followed.” She looked at the floor, eyes downcast and… guilty? “I’m sorry.”

Could someone _please_ tell him what was going on?

Loki shook his head. “You have already said, and it is not your fault.”

“Still.”

* * *

Loki had expected outrage, dissent, mania. Not… _this._

The room fell utterly quiet with his last word. No official said anything. Even the constant patter of the typing keys had ended. He swore he would have been able to hear a pin drop in the silence.

Finally, a man with grey hair and an odd moustache in the front row stood and asked: “How likely is this to be the truth?” His posture radiated only suspicion and hostility.

Loki tilted his head at the man. “It _is_ the truth, whether you would admit it or not.”

“Agent Romanoff?” asked the man, stepping forward.

“All of it, General Ross,” she said, voice entirely neutral, as Loki watched her cross her arms. She did not turn to face him. “Truth.”

Ross hummed, nodding slightly. “And you believe him?” He turned to the judges, eyes scanning them.

One by one, each of the judges agreed, and Loki let a tiny grin creep up his face. It almost felt _unreal_ —for him to be believed because of the say-so of one woman. Humans. So, trusting, yet somehow, they were doing much better at ‘justice’ than Asgard’s sorry excuse for the concept.

“And if you’re all under mind control—” he gestured to the judges, the Avengers, and Romanoff in one smooth motion “—how would we know?” asked Ross, staring Loki down. Of course, total belief was far too good to be true. It would be a mistake of naivety to think they would not require additional proof.

“Where is the Sceptre?” Loki challenged, raising his eyebrows at the idiot. “The Mind Stone is gone, General.”

“Is it?”

The Captain spoke up from his place behind Thor. “I returned it to its time myself.” He looked surprisingly calm despite the revelations.

Ross nodded again, then smirked in a way that made everyone uncomfortable. “One thing still does not add up,” he said smugly, approaching the box, and passing Romanoff. “If what you say is true, why not tell anyone?”

Loki tilted his head at the idiotic mortal. Had he not heard the other reports? “I could not do so. Within less than two minutes of coming to my senses, I was prevented from speaking until we arrived on Asgard.”

“And did you say anything then?”

Loki bristled. “No.”

“But you could have?”

He locked his eyes on the human’s, seething and hard. It was not as simple a question as the mortal would think it to be. He could have told the truth, yet he did not. First, he had been _terrified_ that should he breathe a word of what had happened in the Void and on _Sanctuary,_ the Other and the Titan would come for him— _claim him—_ and Odin would either be powerless to stop it, or neglect to resist at all. Second…

“‘Asgardian justice’, as my brother put it, did not meet the same standards as yours.” Loki glanced around the room at the officials, who were looking on with keen interest. A little compliment to distract them from the more prevalent reason.

“Which means?” Ross pressed, gesturing with his hand. He arched an eyebrow skeptically.

“There was none of—” Loki motioned with his hands to the judges, then to the Avengers and Romanoff “— _this._ There was no trial, no hearing, no impartial jury, or unbiased judges. There were no witnesses, and no testimonies, only the Allfather, and a sentencing.

“Perhaps, there were opportunities, but none in a formal setting. None where I could speak and be believed. See, you did not trust me, and required additional proof of my honesty. Asgard knew me for centuries as a liar, however mistaken that view may be; anything I would have said in my defence would have been immediately discarded as petty excuses or attempts at gaining my own freedom.

“There was no justice. Had there been a trial, an impartial jury, and a means by which Asgard could determine my honesty, I most certainly would have explained all of this.” _Debatable,_ thought Loki, but the point still stood. “Instead, there was naught but an unfair sentencing.”

“Unfair?” asked Ross, eyes narrowing harshly. “If you had not said anything, how could the sentence be unfair?”

Why was that a question? How stupid could this mortal possibly be? How could any sentence be fair if the judges did not have all the necessary context? “Again, there was no _opportunity_ to explain my actions, nor was the sentence just.”

“What was the sentence, by the way?” asked Barton from the back. “‘cause you got out of prison after—what? A year at most?”

“The sentence was _four-thousand years of solitary confinement.”_ Loki swore the whole room shuddered. “I believe you humans call that ‘war crimes’. Believe me, faced with such a term, anyone would do _anything_ to get out of it.”

Agent Romanoff only nodded, eyes looking slightly haunted as she stared into the side of the wooden box. Huh.

“So no,” Loki concluded with a light sigh, setting aside any thoughts of the SHIELD agent. “I did not say anything.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” said Ross flatly, eyes scathing, like he was looking for dishonesty—looking for _guilt_ —even though it did not exist. Not here. Not where he searched for it.

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes. “What more proof do you need?”

“Only a little.”

* * *

“If we were on Asgard, he could very well die for something like that,” Loki said, practically flaying his brother with his piercing green eyes.

Thor’s expression was more exhausted than anything. “This isn’t _Asgard;_ you can’t—”

“Shame,” Tony interrupted, sighing. “If anyone has it coming, it’s Ross.” He looked to Wanda, expression morphing into something closer to sympathy. “He shouldn’t have threatened you like that.”

Wanda shook her head. “I should have been able to see through it.”

“No, he shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. Your English is great, don’t get me wrong, but how much legal jargon do you know?”

She brought a palm up to her forehead. “None,” she admitted, breathing deeply.

“What _happened?”_ Peter asked, finally letting his curiosity break him.

Wanda sighed before answering: “I… never signed the Accords. He said I could be returned to—returned to the Raft unless I—” she trailed, eyes drifting off and settling on a spot on the floor.

_The Raft?_

“He can’t,” Tony interrupted firmly, but gently. “The Accords are void as of two months from now. He can’t do anything.”

Besides, Wanda could probably decimate all of the US military with a thought. And Loki would join her. And probably Thor, too. And maybe Tony. Whatever it was that he made her do, Wanda could probably flick her fingers and outright murder him.

“I know that _now._ I should have known that _then.”_

Loki looked Wanda in the eye as he firmly stated: “It was not your fault.”

_What wasn’t?_

Could someone tell him, _please?_

Wanda released a shuddering exhale before answering Peter’s earlier question: “I… had to give them ‘proof’, and Loki—” she looked him dead in the eye “—it’s not that I’m sorry for. I can’t control it sometimes. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “I know.”

Peter finally filled in the blanks. Ross made Wanda… 

Oh.

_Oh._

That was… 

_Messed up._

“I’d help,” he offered bluntly, looking between Wanda, who had her eyes clenched tightly shut, and Loki, who was now staring distantly at a spot on the floor.

“Help?” asked Thor with a puzzled expression.

“With Ross. If you ever need to hide a body, you can—”

Tony whirled on him with narrowed eyes. “You know how to hide a body?”

“—call me,” Peter finished. He very much did _not_ know how to hide a body, and he was quite sure Tony knew that. Still, it was the thought that counted.

It pulled a smile out of Loki, and a light chuckle from Wanda. Peter took it as a win.

* * *

“Hey, what number was that, by the way?” Peter asked when Thor and Tony had left to find something to eat. They were all mentally exhausted and hungry after sitting in a courtroom for the entire day since, like, six in the morning. According to Thor, they’d had tea and coffee in the morning, but that was all they had to go on for the rest of the day.

Loki had returned to his pacing, though the intensity was dialled down now. “What number?” he echoed, looking at him with a confused expression. “Oh. _That.”_

“Yes, that.”

“Why measure such things numerically?”

Peter shrugged casually. “I would say something about putting feelings in perspective, but I honestly just made it up on the spot.”

Loki hummed, lips pressing together in mild amusement. “Six? Maybe a seven?” He looked out the window at the people walking by on the street below. “Closer to seven.”

“And now?”

“Significantly less.”

One of the cars below got trapped in the middle of an intersection, quickly followed by a bombardment of honking from others. New York: the city of angry commuters.

“Cool,” said Peter, nodding enthusiastically. He had missed curfew by a mile, but oh well. That was going to happen anyway. At least he wouldn’t have to sit in the traffic. “Let me know?” he offered, arching an eyebrow.

“All right, Spider. I will try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrived at Avengers Tower a second time the next day. He had nothing better to do, and it could be fun to just hang around with everyone. The Avengers plus Loki, Wanda, and… just about everyone else he could name (and some that he couldn’t) were all huddled around the bar on the top floor, raising glasses to some toast or another when he entered.
> 
> The elevator dinged lightly as he stepped into the room. “You’re having a party and didn’t invite me?” he asked, somewhat indignantly.
> 
> Tony shrugged, pulling him over and sliding a can of Coke across the granite countertop. “It was a last-minute thing. Actually, we were just thinking of calling you.”
> 
> Peter nodded, and the drink sizzled as it popped open. “So, what’s the celebration for?”
> 
> “It hasn’t been announced to the public yet…” Tony started, implying that whatever the news was, it was not to be shared. No problem. He was used to that kind of news by now.
> 
> Thor continued, smiling brightly: “We received word of the verdict.”
> 
> Ah. Of course. The trial. “And?”
> 
> Loki’s smile matched his brother’s. “Not guilty.”
> 
> Tony added cheerfully with his ‘paparazzi smile’: “And we’re suing Ross.”


	3. Seven (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [salparadiselost](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this chapter. You're the best!!
> 
> Also, the last three chapters are much longer than the first three, so it might take a little longer to update.

_"Now I'm clear I can hear myself think straight"_

_-Ezra Vine "Celeste"_

* * *

_Seven_

It had been a few months since Thanos’s defeat outside Avengers Compound in April, and slowly, everything began returning to normal. The damage to Avengers Compound was nearly repaired, and New Asgard was doing rather well under Thor’s care, which surprised Loki to no end. Occasionally, the Avengers showed up in New Asgard to help with their reconstruction, and Loki began to even call some of them his friends, especially Stark’s Spider-child, with whom he had traded numbers and texted often.

Stark himself was mostly recovered, having enough time to sue Ross for his stunt at the trial over privacy laws. The scarring on his arm would be permanent, the nerves damaged beyond repair, but he would live. He had designed a sort-of-prosthetic to help with the mobility, and—combined with the use of his suit—it was like nothing had really changed. The mortal was also rather interesting with an innate curiosity that reminded Loki of himself. Once everything had been cleared with the UN, he’d taken to satisfying that curiosity on everything related to magic that he could think of.

Agent Romanoff also made a reappearance at his trial, which was… startling. Loki had thought her dead—sacrificed for the Soul Stone—but according to the Captain’s tale, the Stone required a soul, and once they were finished, the trade could be made in reverse.

So, she had returned from the dead, and Loki would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy sparring with her both verbally and physically.

All in all, the people of Earth were rather resilient, and had taken to both their recovery and the clean-up rather well. The parks that used to be unkempt and littered with human garbage were mostly cleared of it now. Some businesses were beginning to reopen, people were eager to get their lives back. They were moving on.

And with the reopening of the world, came the reintroduction of supervillains.

No, not Loki. That part of his life was over and done with (not that he really wanted it or had a choice, to begin with). No, the supervillain in question was the over-dramatically named Victor von Doom, a Midgardian who combined magic and technology into abhorrent amalgamations. His country—situated somewhere in what the humans called ‘Eastern Europe’—was rather normal for its area; unstable at times, but relatively uneventful.

That was, of course, until the Stones returned Victor von Doom from the Soul World—or wherever the Vanished went. He came back to the living world seething that the Avengers had failed the first time around, and determined to punish the heroes for their initial failure. Which, yes, Loki had been infuriated over that as well, but also grateful for it (he would not be _alive_ if Banner had not brought everyone back). And he had no plans to take out his anger on any of his brother’s friends.

Doom had no such obligations, and immediately began to actively seek out the Avengers’ deaths. He deployed teams of his magical mechanics that hunted the superheroes and created general chaos. He was particularly keen on killing _Thor,_ for ‘not going for the head’. How that became public knowledge, Loki did not know. Even worse than his ill-conceived revenge attempts, was the _gall_ that the Midgardian considered himself a sorcerer—even _worse_ than Strange (if that was even _possible_ ). Now, the so-called “sorcerer” raged through downtown New York with his aptly named Doombots every other Sunday in the name of ‘revenge’.  
  
And people called Loki a drama queen. 

It was on one of these Sunday afternoons that his phone rang. Stark was calling, most likely to ask for assistance against Doom, which did not happen _every_ Sunday, but often enough that Loki had reason to suspect it. He picked up the phone. “Stark?”

 _“Hey, Rudolph.”_ Something in the background exploded. _“You free?”_

“Depends,” Loki answered casually, already preparing the teleportation working needed to get him to New York. “What did you have in mind?”

_“You know. Just a couple hundred Doombots. He seems to be fond of the number twelve though. We take down twelve and another twelve pop up. Oh yeah, we also have an out-of-action God of Thunder.”_

‘Out-of-action?’

Something exploded again, and Stark cursed loudly. When the noise died down after another few seconds, he asked, breathlessly: _“Interested?”_

Loki shrugged. “Sure.”

Mildly annoyed at his brother’s stupidity for getting injured, Loki arrived on the streets of New York in his armour, and had helped the Avengers take care of the Doombots. Doom himself had gotten away, but they counted it as a win; there were no casualties this time. Naturally, in the quiet calm of the after-battle, that was when everything went wrong.

After a brief reconvene at the Tower, he saw to his brother, who had been struck with one of Doom’s electronic weapons that rendered the victim unconscious. Thor had bruises on the side on which he had fallen, but other than that, he was completely unharmed. After ensuring that there was no lasting damage, Loki went to what the Midgardians of New York called ‘Queens’, which was where the Spider lived. Perhaps, he thought, he could finally cash in on his due trip to a Midgardian museum.

It was a rather pleasant day, with weather that reminded him vaguely of Asgard’s summers, though the heat on Earth was less oppressive. Loki wrapped himself in an illusion of Midgardian clothing as to not draw any attention to himself, and wove a few ‘diversion’ workings to distract any who might recognize him. It was easy enough to do, so he chose to walk through the shaded streets of the city instead of simply worldwalking to his destination.

He should have worldwalked.

He had just been turning a corner when his shoulder erupted in excruciating pain. He clawed at his own skin, desperate to remove the white-hot something,only to find it _inside_ him. It felt smooth—like metal, larger than a bullet, but smaller than his thumb. It _burned_ , like iron searing his flesh. then, the device _expanded,_ sharp spikes protruding from the centrepiece and digging into his shoulder blades. Consumed by the pain and the surprise, his illusion shattered in an instant.

He whirled, spotting the attacker on the roof of a nearby building, about five stories up. Well, less of an attacker and more of a forgotten Doombot.

A quick disassembling spell was enough to send the bot to the ground in pieces, startling the passersby on the street below. He ducked into a nearby alley before anyone could notice him. Needless to say, New York was not exactly friendly towards him; he’d had the police called to arrest him a few times already, and Loki was not looking for a repeat of that experience.

He could sense the shapes of more Doombots behind him, but either Doom had found a way to disguise their aura, or had not enchanted these because Loki could not sense a trace of magic on them. He turned around to see another three waiting there a little further down the alley, neatly floating beside one another.

 _“Loki of Asgard,”_ came a distorted voice from a speaker of the foremost bot. _“Come with us, and Doom will not harm you.”_

 _Any further,_ Loki added dryly in his head as his shoulder ached. There was something _in him._ It felt _wrong_ and he wanted it out _right now._ “I don’t think so,” he replied with a wry smirk, summoning two daggers into his hands. He felt the energy leave him, but it felt like trying to wring liquid from a rag, which was not at all what it _should_ have felt like.

_Why was that difficult?_

_His magic was fine_ — _it had been for some time._

 _So why couldn’t he_ —

That thing.

In his shoulder.

Somehow, by some technological feat on Doom’s part, he had found a way to block his magic. Not steal it, just lock it inside him. He could push against the lock, but until the device was out, he would only have access to a small trickle. Or perhaps the device was sucking away at the energy faster than his body could produce it. 

It didn’t matter.

He could deal with that later.

Right now, all he wanted was for the thing to be _out of him._

The bots attacked in sequence, using his distraction to their advantage. They were not difficult opponents—not in the slightest—but with his shoulder slowly leaking blood, and with his magic draining into whatever device was lodged in there, the fight was messier than it should have been.

Loki looked at the pieces on the ground, breathing heavily. Most of the bots were still somewhat intact, only having a dagger embedded in them, which Loki promptly removed. They _were_ Doombots, he was relatively sure, but there was something _off_ about them that he could not place. One flickered with little bursts of electricity.

He tried to crane his neck to look at his shoulder, but he couldn’t hold it for long before spots danced in front of his eyes from the pain.

One of the bots on the ground stuttered to life and released an electronic pulse up Loki’s leg. He would have thought it would be like the Widow Bites that Romanoff liked so much. It was not. Imbued with magic, the shocks stung his _magic,_ worse than the device still inside him.

Loki cried out and fell to the ground, instinctively shoving a dagger into the bot and kicking it away. He could not stop twitching as the aftershocks coursed through his body, seizing his muscles, and rendering him immobile. 

Get up.

_Get up._

_You’ve had worse than this._

_Get up!_

_Loki Odinson, get off the bloody ground!_

He tried—he really tried—but his limbs would not corporate. They were still shaking, spasming as the aftershocks continued to their intended effect, but he could feel them fading slowly.

_Get up._

_Get up!_

_You are not about to die in some forgotten alley._

_Up. Now!_

_You did not survive the Titan so you could die here of all places._

There were at least seven of the bots hovering around him, and lying on the ground, muscles still spasming, Loki knew that his chances for victory in a fight were slim.

But, of course, Loki always made his best plans when all bets were against him. He was Loki, the God of Mischief, and if there was one thing he knew, it was how to bide his time in order to enact revenge. 

So Doom would capture him. So what. Thor and the other Avengers would find him eventually and Doom didn’t stand a chance against the full-force of the angered superheroes. He almost felt pity as he imagined Thor’s fury against the pathetic Midgardian sorcerer. Well, not too much pity, he still had the blasted, infuriating device embedded in his shoulder, after all. And once the mortal was ferreted out, Loki could safely say that he wouldn’t stand a chance.

For now, he would get out of whatever captivity device the mortal had prepared.

And then Doom would _pay._

* * *

So far, Peter’s day had been, absolutely, one-hundred percent normal. Well, except for the fact that May was at a work conference in Chicago. He had woken up late, nearly ten o’clock in the morning, eaten some stale cheerios for breakfast, and spent a few hours over at Ned’s house working through a new Lego set that his younger sister bought for his birthday. It was perfectly normal.

They had a sub for lunch and then went to Peter’s apartment to play _Beast Slayers_ for an hour or two. Ned left after a quick snack, and then Peter put on the suit, climbed up to the roof and went out as Spider-man. And, just because it was a nice day, he decided to put in a few extra hours.

Without school (that dreadful thing would start in about three weeks), he had been clocking in more and more hours in the suit, helping people adjust where they could, doing his part for the community—all that. Mostly, this involved helping older people push past the crowds to get groceries, which were incredibly scarce. The population had basically doubled overnight, but not the food-production, which was a serious problem.

He helped an old lady get the special type of sugar that she needed from Walmart, and she told him to come back to her apartment in an hour so that she could give him a box of caramels.

There was a seven-year-old wandering around near Steinway Street Station, and he helped her find her parents less than two blocks away. The parents were in tears and overjoyed, thanking him profusely.

Peter had been out for a little over an hour when he poked his head into a convenience store for a snack break, and saw the news on the TV in the corner. Downtown was being attacked by Doctor Doom. Again.

He called Mr. Stark, but the line was busy, so he tried again five minutes later as he sat on the edge of a roof with his bag of pretzels. “Mr. Stark?” he asked. “Is everything okay downtown?”

 _“Yeah, we’re good, kid,”_ he replied, and Peter could hear something explode on the other side of the line.

“Oh? Is that why I’m hearing explosions?” He crunched down on a pretzel loudly.

_“We got help coming. It’ll be over before you get here.”_

“Okay then. Do you want me to stop distracting you?”

 _“Of course not. Distraction is always good,”_ he said lightly. Something crashed and Peter could hear Tony loudly swear.

“I’m going to stop distracting you.”

_“Okay. Good idea. I’ll call you after we’re done here.”_

The call ended, and Peter finished the last of the pretzels before slipping the mask over the lower half of his face and swinging away in the direction of the old lady who offered him caramel. He _loved_ caramel.

An hour later as he was finishing up and making his way slowly back to his apartment, he heard a loud crash. At first, he thought there had been a car accident, but those were usually louder. Then he saw a commotion on the sidewalk. The people there—students, he thought—screamed as chunks of metal debris fell down around them. So not a car crash.

He swung over, landing gracefully a few metres away and jogging up. “Are you guys okay?” he asked the students. They were a couple, holding hands on a nice romantic walk down the streets of Queens. Well, maybe not so romantic anymore.

They stared at him, eyes wide, and gave shaky nods.

Peter couldn’t smell or see any blood on them, so the metal pieces must have missed them. He leaned over one of the pieces to examine it, picking it up and—

_Ow!_

_What?_

It _zapped_ him.

He didn’t try again, crouching down and examining the weird metal bits instead. One twitched. Another released a few sparks.

And then he heard a scream coming from maybe twenty metres away in an alley. Peter took a few steps in that direction, then swung into the air as his webbing connected with the nearby buildings.

In the alley, there was someone lying on their side on the ground, twitching slightly. 

_A seizure?_ Peter thought, and then he saw the Doombots, probably leftovers from what the Avengers were dealing with downtown. So, this was an attack.

He counted seven bots, humanoid metal contraptions that whirred and hummed somewhat. They had different parts protruding from them; cameras, weapons—that sort of thing. His spider-sense felt itchy around them.

He could deal with seven right? That wasn’t too many. Besides, the Avengers had just taken out dozens upon dozens of bots downtown. Peter could manage a measly seven.

Peter shot his web-shooters at the one in the middle, pulling it towards him and smashing it with his feet. It loudly fell to pieces as the rest opened fire. Ducking and twisting out of the way, he jammed the blasters of three of them—webbing tangling in the machinery—and slammed another against the wall, taking off chunks of brick, but also chunks of the bot. Metal scraped against the brick in an awful shrieking noise.

The three that had been jammed attempted to open fire, and the webbing caught the energy and rebounded it, exploding those to smithereens. The final bot rose into the air, and Peter brought it crashing down with a taser-web.

With no bots in sight, Peter turned his attention back to the person on the ground, and—

Oh.

That’s—

“Loki!” Peter rushed over as the Asgardian tried to stand on shaky legs. His expression looked pained. “Are you okay? What are you doing—”

His spider-sense flared, and he had a moment to yelp before the seventh (yes, there were seven. He had counted then; why hadn't he remembered?) Doombot slammed into him from the side like a freight train, knocking the air out of his chest. He hit the side of the building _hard,_ head slamming against the brick, and landed on his knees and elbows.

_Ow._

_That hurt._

_And it was going to bruise badly._

_And May was going to kill him for getting injured._

_Again._

He shut his eyes and tried to ignore the ache spreading over his entire torso. This was bad. This was very, _very_ bad. There were spots in his vision, and the sounds… the sounds didn’t sound right.

Sounds didn’t sound…

That wasn’t… 

_Ow._

How could he have forgotten that there were _seven?_

A crash rang out from somewhere, then a low humming noise that died out after a moment.

“Spider,” said Loki. His voice sounded breathy and gasping. “Are you injured?”

Peter opened his eyes slowly, Loki crouched beside him, eyes scanning over his body for injuries. His hair was frizzy and standing up straight in some places. He looked pale. Well, that wasn’t saying much, so paler than _usual._

“I’m okay,” he gasped, pushing himself up to sit against the wall. “I’m okay.”

Loki hummed, then dryly replied: “Clearly,” as Peter winced. “Can you call Stark?”

“Can you do it?” Moving anything more than a finger was a non-option.

“My phone is dead.”

“Karen,” Peter said raggedly.

 _“Already done,”_ replied the AI.

Okay. _That’s good._ “You okay?” he asked Loki, who had dropped from a crouch to outright sitting on the concrete.

“There’s something in my shoulder,” he answered tonelessly, and the fact that he even admitted to _anything_ was more of an answer than the reply itself. “It’s draining my magic.”

That sounded bad. “Do you want me to get it out?”

“No,” he said firmly with a shake of his head. “It can wait.”

“You kinda look like you’re about to pass out,” Peter noted. And, _ow._ Why did _breathing_ hurt?

“I’ll live.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Look,” said Loki with a grimace. “Spider, there’s nothing you can do about it right now. Just wait.”

Peter tried to sit up from the wall: “I can help—” His whole torso objected to his attempt, and sent him right back against the brick. Which, yeah. _Ouch._

“Peter,” Loki sighed, “Stop. We can wait for Stark. Don’t try to move.”

“I—”

“Does it hurt to breathe?”

Peter gave him a tiny nod, and closed his eyes. It hurt to _move,_ it hurt to _talk,_ and yes, it hurt to _breathe._

“I suspect one or more of your ribs are broken.”

_Broken?_

_But it was just one bot._

_A body slam—_

_—into a brick wall._

“How many fingers am I holding up?” asked Loki, and Peter could see his hand move out of the corner of his eye. He could feel something wet trickling down the back of his neck. _Blood?_

The spots in his vision were clearing, but… “Two?” he guessed, and it was totally that—a _guess._ He’d been asked these questions before by May, by Tony, by Happy. Sixty percent (yes, he’d done the math) of the time, it was two.

“None,” Loki answered worriedly. “Maybe a concussion as well.”

Peter sighed _—ow—_ then winced, clenching his eyes shut.

May was going to kill him, ground him for life, then ban the suit for an eternity.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered, remembering to keep his breaths shallow and words quiet. “There were seven. I forgot—I knew and I… there were seven. I can’t…”

“It is all right, Spider.”

“Tired,” he murmured quietly.

“Yes, you did well, Spider. There were more than seven.”

“Wha…”

“Eleven in total. They’re all gone.”

 _Except…_

But… 

But—

Doom’s bots worked in teams of _twelve._

_So, where’s—?_

A loud crash sounded from the other side of the alley, then cracked his eye open, and saw Loki turn his head sharply.

“Sheesh,” said the voice on the other side. _Mr. Stark._ “You guys made a mess.” There was the sound of electricity sparking. That must have been the twelfth. “And you missed one!” Tony added as something heavy fell to the ground. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you rookies.”

“Stark, he’s hurt,” said Loki, who tried to stand up, then, stumbling, thought better of it.

“The helicopter’s on the way. T-minus thirty seconds at the most.” Peter heard the shifting of metal scraping on the concrete beside him, and the feeling of light fingers on his shoulder.

_Mr. Stark’s here._

_See?_

_Everything is fine._

There was the sound of helicopter blades in the distance, and the honking of cars on the street.

And then unconsciousness blissfully claimed him.

* * *

When Peter awoke, there were exactly two things on his mind. The first was, _ow._ Everything hurt, his head most of all, but his ribs were a close second.

The second thought was that the two occupants of the room were now staring at him intently, which felt rather embarrassing.

“Peter.” That was Mr. Stark. Where was he? The voice came from his right. Peter was lying down. Was he still in the alley? No. That wasn’t right. There were blankets over him, and the ground felt soft. Something beeped loudly in the background.

Because it wasn’t the ground. That was a bed. Hospital?—no. That wasn’t right either. Stark medical. Everything was hazy, his memory and his vision swam around him., The dim lighting didn’t help identify the two people.

“How long?” He tried to keep his voice even, but it came out more like a stifled groan. 

“Peter, are you awake?” asked Mr. Stark, and something that sounded like fabric shifted beside him. A chair. He was sitting down.

He attempted a nod, but was stopped by a splitting pain in his head like someone was trying to drive a knife through his skull. “Where?” he asked, and this time it sounded somewhat coherent.

“Avengers Tower,” said a voice to his left. Male. Accented. Familiar. That was Loki. “It has been six hours. Your aunt is on a plane to New York at the moment.”

“And Pepper’s on her way from L.A.,” added Tony, and Peter felt a hand lightly grasp onto his.

Then, the events leading up to the battle came crashing back into his mind. Loki had been lying on the ground, and there were seven Doombots. No, there were twelve. Where were the others? And Loki was injured because—something. _Something._ Why couldn’t he remember?

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked quietly.

“‘M fine,” Peter slurred, only half awake. His tongue had tied itself into knots, and nothing seemed _real._ Tony was fuzzy, and his vision was spinning still. “Loki’s—he has—there’s something…”

“Spider,” said Loki, very softly. “I am fine. Go back to sleep.”

Peter didn’t believe him, but he was unable to keep his eyelids open any longer.

* * *

Peter woke up to the sparsely decorated medical room of Avengers Tower. Struggling to focus, his eyes settled on a painting on the far wall until the edges of the frame were sharp and clear.

The rest of his senses came back to him slowly. There was a faint humming noise coming from one of the hospital machines, and a beeping from the hallway. The air smelled like a mix of hand sanitizer and fresh sheets. The lights were dim, but there was a brighter source coming from his left that blinked off as soon as Peter noticed it. He was still wearing the Spider-man suit, he thought. No. Wait. Those were hospital clothes.

“Hey, kid,” said Mr. Stark from beside him. He was perched on the edge of one of those flimsy plastic foldable chairs, no longer wearing the suit. Peter noticed Loki on his other side, sitting in a leather armchair that he’d probably magicked there. They were both here. For him. Even though downtown was probably still recovering from Doom’s attack, even though they probably had a million better places to be. “You’ve been asleep for about an hour. How’re you feeling?”

“Better,” he answered, and this time it didn’t feel like his brain was being cut in half. He could still feel the damage in his ribs, but it was less noticeable. “What happened?”

“Loki did some magic voodoo witchcraft—”

“ _Not_ voodoo witchcraft, Stark. _Seiðr_ —”

“—and sped up the healing process. Your aunt is on her way from the airport. She’ll be here in—” he glanced at his phone “—about fifteen minutes.”

Why was May at the airport—?

_Right._

The conference thing.

Peter let out a long sigh and let the silence linger for a moment. “Aren’t you going to ground me?” he asked Tony, quite possibly sealing his own fate. 

“I’ll leave that to your aunt and Pepper.”

Oh, _crap._

That was so much worse.

_Pepper._

Peter shivered.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said warmly, resting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “But don’t do anything that stupid again. Taking on seven Doombots without backup.” The billionaire sighed dramatically and brought a hand up to his face. “I thought I was a good role model, but probably not, because that was definitely a stunt that I would have pulled.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Stark?” snarked Loki from his other side. There was a thick book in his lap, and he had a familiar mischievous gleam to his eyes. ”You believe yourself to be a good role model?”

“Like you’re much better, Merlin,” Tony countered with a sly smirk. Loki scoffed playfully and muttered something about having centuries worth of experience over Stark.

Peter tried to clear his throat, gaining both of their attention, then asked: “Water?”

Tony handed him a glass from the table next to the bed, watching him carefully as Peter drained it in less than ten seconds, then asked for another. “I’ll be back in a minute,” said Mr. Stark as he left the room with the glass, peering through the window.

“How are you?” Peter asked (more like _croaked_ ), turning to Loki. His head rang with the same sharp pain at even the slightest movement.

“Seven.”

 _“Seven?_ ” He felt his eyebrows narrow into a confused squint. Peter asked the question often during their phone calls and many text conversations. A great majority of the time, the answer was between zero and two. The fact that the first time he asked it was a six was a pure coincidence that Loki had yet to explain. Seven was _bad._

“If you say you do not remember, it will become an eight,” said Loki darkly, cutting through his thoughts.

_What?_

_Why wouldn’t he remember—?_

_Head injury, Pete._

_Memory problems._

“No,” Peter said with a slight shake of his head to clear his thoughts. Cautiously, “No, I remember the one-to-ten. Is the seven directed at me or Doom?” It could really be either and—

_Oh-ho boy. Imagine being on the wrong end of a seven._

But what could he have done to deserve that?

_Run into a fight against seven Doombots without backup?_

_Yeah, that happened._

“Doom,” Loki answered, and Peter inwardly let out an enormous sigh of relief. So, he would be murdered with words by May first, then Pepper, then Tony probably after they were finished, but not Loki. That was good. Especially because Loki’s idea of murder probably included actual knives instead of words. 

“Cool,” he sighed. Peter brought a hand up to his forehead to rub it slightly. His head felt far less painful than before, but his expression kept tightening unintentionally, and it felt like it was squeezing his brain.

“Does it still hurt?” asked Loki with sincere concern in his voice. He leaned forward in the seat, resting his elbows on his knees.

“It’s manageable.”

“Spider…”

“I’m _fine.”_

“All right.” He backed off a little, leaning into the chair and taking a deep breath.

Jokingly, Peter inquired with a raised eyebrow: “Only a seven?”

“Would you like it to be higher?” the god asked with something of a challenging note in his tone. Peter did _not_ like the sound of that and immediately began to backpedal.

“No, no, no.” Peter waved him off, trying to keep his voice from rising “Seven’s good. Seven’s great actually. Just the best number. Doom is—” he couldn’t resist it _“—doomed.”_

Loki groaned, even though Peter could see him tampering down a smile. “Seven towards Doom and maybe half a point towards you.”

Peter laughed, then immediately regretted it, and winced sharply.

He tried to hide it from the god, but there was no avoiding his watchful stare. His smile was wiped from his face and his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps seven is too low,” Loki noted, and Peter shivered at the dangerous edge to his voice. Sometimes, he forgot that Loki had once been a supervillain. It was easy to when the man was buying ridiculously expensive bagels and fussing over him like a mother hen. But it was times like these, when Loki got that knife-sharp look in his eyes, that Peter remembered that the god could wipe out a city block with the wave of his hand.

“Seven what?” asked Tony as he entered the room with a full glass of water in hand, breaking the tension. His face lit up a moment later as he sat down and handed the glass to Peter. “Oh! Is that your one-to-ten scale of villainy? Is that why Mr. Magic over there is looking all murder-y?”

Loki rolled his eyes and shot Peter a withering look. 

Without a decent answer, Peter shrugged and took a sip of the water, savouring it this time.

“Is that a high score?” the billionaire questioned, arching an eyebrow.

Loki nodded “I believe so,” he deadpanned.

“Huh,” Tony huffed, crossing his arms. He smiled playfully. “Then, Doom is _doomed.”_

Loki groaned and shook his head. “Are you _absolutely_ sure that you two are not related?”

Peter stifled a laugh, remembering the consequence this time around, and looked to his left. In the background, he could hear Stark sputtering and demanding to know how his Doom joke established paternity. 

_Why does everyone think that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week later as Peter was heading into the Tower for a brief social visit (not as Spider-man), he noticed Agent Romanoff and Tony laughing about something in the corner of the common room. The SHIELD agent was dressed in her usual suit, but Tony was just wearing a T-shirt and jeans. The metal brace on his arm had stickers all over it, likely courtesy of Morgan. “Hi, Mr. Stark.”
> 
> “Hey kid—” he paused, looking Peter over intently. “You should _not_ be walking around.”
> 
> Peter just shrugged. According to the doctors, there was still some fragility, and would be for some months. It wasn’t a big deal. He just had to be careful for a while. ”What’s going on?” he asked, and the two of them turned around, still laughing.
> 
> “I was telling Natasha about your little villainy scale,” Tony answered, remnants of a smile in his voice. He crossed his arms.
> 
> “Why?” Peter pressed, face scrunching into a perplexed look.
> 
> The SHIELD agent answered lightly, “I was asking about the note that Loki left us.”
> 
> _What note?_
> 
> The utter confusion must have shown on Peter’s face because Tony explained: “Doom’s been captured by SHIELD. Well,” he corrected, “more like Doom’s been handed to SHIELD. He denied having anything to do with attacking you two because of course, he did. All the parts to his bots disappeared sometime between when we took you to medical and the damage crew showed up, so we can’t confirm, but those _were_ Doombots. Anyway, they found him in the basement of a research facility with a note from your sometimes-evil-friend.”
> 
> Peter groaned and just managed to keep from burying his head in his hands. What had Loki done _now?_
> 
> “SHIELD’s number one most wanted person, tied to a chair in the basement,” added the Black Widow, smirking and shaking her head slowly.
> 
> Huh, well, that wasn’t so bad.
> 
> “What did the note say?” asked Peter, looking between the two senior Avengers.
> 
> “Just a number,” Tony answered with a grin, “Seven.”


	4. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Museum Part One: The Reminder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, yes I know. But in my defence, it's twice as long?
> 
> Thanks to thanks to [salparadiselost](https://www.tumblr.com/search/salparadiselost) for beta-ing!

_"Did you run away? Did you run away? I don't need to know_

_But if you ran away, if you ran away, come back home._

_Just come home"_

_-SYML "Where's My Love"_

* * *

_Eight_

It was Friday the thirteenth, apparently.

Not that the supposedly unlucky date meant anything to Loki, but the Spider-Child had sent him twenty-seven messages about the ill-fated day accompanied by various moving pictures of black cats. The mortals were beings of superstition. He’d seen hundreds of these little quirks develop in humanity. A day of the week that lined up with a specific number was unlucky. A number that sounded close enough to the word “death” was unlucky. Even individuals supposedly had ‘lucky’ and ‘unlucky’ numbers (whatever that was supposed to mean). The rules were arbitrary and ever-changing.

Peter had informed him that because this Friday the thirteenth was in the Midgardian month of October, Loki was supposed to be extra careful, as it was a convergence of multiple bad luck symbols. Loki had paid him no mind, and perhaps that was where he went wrong. He should have known something unlucky was on his horizon. Not _the_ worst situation, no. That distinction would undoubtedly go to surviving the Void, then being found by the Titan’s demented children. This did not come close to that, but it was still entirely unlucky that he happened to be at home at the time of Sif’s arrival.

It had seemed like a normal evening. It was raining outside, quite heavily, and he and Thor were enjoying the sound of it pattering against the roof. Stark had visited recently and put up a string of multi-coloured lights along with pictures of various monsters. He had said that they were absolutely necessary to the celebration of the important Hallow’s Eve holiday. Thor was enamoured by them and Loki allowed them. (He would never admit that he was charmed by them, especially by a small cut-out of a black cat wearing his signature horned helm which Stark had called the Lokitty.) It was nearing dinnertime, and Thor was lying comfortably on the couch, bundled in a knit sweater that looked rather cozy. Loki had wandered into the kitchen and had begun sifting through the fridge for something to make into a supper. They were waiting for the Valkyrie to arrive with the updated list of registered fishing vessels, and Loki silently hoped she might bring some food along with her.

A loud knock sounded at the door, startling Loki out of his thoughts. Five taps, so it was not the Valkyrie. She only knocked twice before barging in, whether someone answered the door or not. He heard his brother groan, shift and wordlessly get up to open it. There was the sound of their front door creaking open on unoiled hinges, then a loud exclamation.

“Sif!”

“Thor!” he heard the warrior-maiden return. Loki clenched his eyes shut, feeling a dreaded wave of anxiety come over him. He tapped his fingers on the counter rapidly.

_On a scale of one to ten, how petulant would it be to hide in his room until she left?_

_Probably a ten._

“It has been a long time,” Thor said, and Loki could practically hear the _happiness,_ in his voice. “My friend, where have you been?”

“Vanaheim,” answered Sif with clear frustration in her tone. “Chasing tales that led nowhere. That lying snake sent me on a fruitless journey.” Loki ground his teeth together at that. She had obviously figured out that it was he who sent her to Vanaheim, and not Odin. “I had been planning on returning to Asgard sooner but then, one night, I went to sleep and woke up five years in the future.”

Thor hummed thoughtfully. “Yes, unfortunately, many people had that experience. Would you like to come in?”

_No._

“Of course!” said the warrior with unbridled cheer.

Loki heard footsteps draw into the house. His house, a house that Sif was decidedly _not_ welcome in. He had been the one to initiate its decorating after he returned from his third death. The dismal, greenish couch that he had slept on after the battle against Thanos had been replaced with a blue one of soft leather. The walls had been repainted and most of the useless garbage lying around had been thrown out. Although his brother lacked style in general, Thor enjoyed the fretting over the details of the room. He had taken to purchasing pillows and little Midgardian trinkets to fill the walls and shelf space. At first, the brothers fought over how many were too many baubles, but now Loki found the organized chaos to be rather charming. All in all, Life was looking up in their little home.

And, for that matter, life also seemed to be a bit kinder to Thor.

He was doing much better than when Loki saw him on the battlefield all those months ago. After a long and fierce fight against his brother’s self-destructive drinking habits, Thor had finally kicked it. Of course, there were relapses now and then. Times when he became a blubbering mess, convinced that Loki was a spectre who came to punish him for his failures. Other times, Thor was angry at everything and nothing. During those times, Loki sent him to Brunnhilde to work off some of the negative energy by sparring. It was through those long and arduous sessions that Thor’s health started to look up as well.

The journey had been rough, but they were getting better. ‘Slowly but surely,’ as the Midgardians would put it.

Perhaps that’s why, from the moment Sif walked in, Loki was on guard. This was _their home,_ their sanctuary from everything Thanos had done to them—to _both_ of them. It was the place where they unwound from the battle, and _really_ talked for the first time in years. Thor explained how everything got so bad on his end, and Loki explained all of his actions of the past decade from start to finish.

It was _their space,_ and Sif was invading it with her proud demeanour and presence.

Loki was not having any of it. He wanted her gone but at the same time… 

As much as he hated her (and she, him), he had to admit that Thor having another friend other than the Valkyrie and Heimdall would be beneficial for his brother in the long run. His Midgardian companions were quaint, likeable, and overall, good. They visited New Asgard, assisted with the cleanup, and even put up with Loki, who had attempted to take over their world (not really, but the point stood). If he was really pressed into it, he would even admit that he liked a couple of them. 

But Loki knew the dangers of having mortal friends more than most. It had not been a threat when he told Thor on Svartalfheim: _“It's a heartbeat. You'll never be ready.”_ No, that was a warning, a plea for him to take caution and not get too attached to the humans, who lived and died in the blink of an eye.

Loki knew that from experience. Midgard had always been Asgard’s dumping ground for its problem children and, as Asgard’s foremost problem child, Loki had been sent here multiple times over the centuries. Humans were an odd bunch, but not entirely unappealing. In fact, one of his favourite memories was hundreds of years ago, when he made friends with a group of actors. They were a merry bunch, and they performed plays for the strangest, yet most interesting Midgardian he had ever met. The man, William, was rather taken with Loki and had even based the character, Robin Goodfellow, on him. But, then, ‘in the blink of an eye’, they died. Not slowly, not one at a time. Within ten short years of each other, every one of them was dead.

The loss had haunted him for years and Loki cursed his own foolishness for getting attached to the novel mortals in the first place.

Midgardian friends were valuable, but not a permanent solution.

Sif could be that solution for Thor. 

If she were to ever get over her blatant dislike of Loki, that is, but still, there was potential.

For that reason alone, Loki did not abandon the house to search for the Valkyrie by the docks the moment Sif came in, because his presence in New Asgard was no secret; she would find out eventually and be even angrier with him for hiding.

That did not stop him from pretending to be looking for something in the closet when she entered ( _coward_ ).

Thor was close behind her, footsteps lumbering and comfortingly familiar. “We’ve redecorated recently,” he said, pride and excitement clear through his tone.

Sif’s armour clinked as she looked around the room. “It looks nice,” she complimented sincerely, and Loki doubled down on his earlier point about Sif being good for his brother. “We?”

His stomach dropped through the floor.

“Ah, yes,” exclaimed Thor with a somewhat hesitant tone to his voice. Loki inwardly grimaced at it. “Loki’s here. Somewhere.”

Still debating whether to remove himself from the closet, Loki heard Sif’s distaste. “He’s _here?”_

He guessed there was not much of a point to continue hiding now. 

He revealed himself to Thor, carefully off to the side where she would not see him immediately, but he could watch her. Loki went to step forward, but Sif’s expression of absolute disgust rooted him in place like there was ice crawling over his feet. “That _snake,”_ she hissed, and Loki saw his brother raise an arm in her direction in something of a placating gesture.

“He’s helping me run New Asgard,” Thor explained frantically, spotting Loki from where he was standing off to the side.

Sif’s head turned to see what he was looking at and—

_Damn._

This was going to end poorly.

Her eyes were heated, pure and intense hatred spilling from them with no hint of stopping anytime soon. She had her teeth clenched together tightly, grinding no doubt, and her nostrils were practically flaring. _“You traitor!”_ Sif spat, striding towards Loki with one raised fist.

He stepped back instinctively.

Loki often compared Thor’s rage to a bushfire, blazing high and hot, but over in minutes, reduced to smouldering after the initial wave had passed. If asked, Thor would describe Loki’s fury as cold and seething, building into something deadly and severing before releasing all at once. Alternatively, Sif’s rage was _violent._ It was act and attack first, stop and reconsider later, ask questions… never.

He flinched hard, preparing to have his nose broken, but a movement stopped the blow. As quick as a snake, Thor was grabbing her other arm, swinging her around, so she missed by a wide margin. He expertly flipped her onto her back, and she let out a small ‘oof’ as she landed on the couch. It was not a move Loki would expect from his brother; one that was made with the result in mind and with some forethought as to not cause injury.

“Sif,” warned Thor as she swung her feet over the edge and stood face to face with him. “Please refrain from hitting my brother.”

“You would still call him that?” she demanded with a snarl.

Loki forcefully stopped himself from flinching. After everything— _because of_ everything—that had happened, he _was_ Thor’s brother, now even more so than in the past. That was one of the few things he could still be certain of.

Loki could not see Thor’s expression from where he stood, but he imagined it was puzzled. The thunderer had never been good at picking up the hidden meanings in words. “Of course,” Thor answered surely as if the fact was so painfully obvious. “Sif, you must be jesting. Loki has been my brother for a thousand years, so why would I not call him ‘brother’ now? ”

 _Oh,_ thought Loki, wincing internally. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, he knew that Thor had just walked both of them into a trap.

As expected, Sif’s face became red with fury, and she gritted her teeth like a snarling wolf.

Her voice started low and quiet, righteous anger seeping through the tone. “Do not be fooled, Thor, I would never jest about such a wretched creature.” She spat, her voice rising in outrage, releasing all at once. “He stole your throne! _Twice!_ He betrayed all of Asgard! Do you forget about how he brought Frost Giants into the Vault to steal the Casket? Do you forget about the crimes he committed against the place he called his home? What more proof do you need of his treachery?” She pointed an accusing finger at Loki, and her other hand strayed to the sword currently sheathed and hanging from her belt.

“Sif…” Thor trailed off, his eyes were haunted as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

And despite how ready he had thought he would be to face this tirade, Loki’s heart sank.

He shouldn’t care.

He _shouldn’t._

But…

That was all Thor had to say in his defence?

“I see it now.” Sif turned sharply, redirecting her ire towards his brother. “He has you under some spell.”

 _What?_ He just barely kept from blurting the word out loud. He knew that Sif was never his companion, but did she really trust him so little that she thought he would do something so horrendous against his own brother. 

“We will find a way to remove it,” she turned towards Thor, though careful to keep Loki in her view. 

He shuddered and, against his better judgment, tried to object. “Sif, I would never-” 

“Do not say my name,” she spat as she whirled, her other hand balling into a fist as she swung it directly at his face. An instinctual shield absorbed the blow, and Sif snarled at him, _“Ergi wretch._ He even fights like a coward.”

Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes and make the situation worse. They’d had this argument before countless times. “Cowards live,” he quipped, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms over his chest.

 _Coward._ The word rang in his head. How many times had she called him that? How many times had he proven the sentiment true? Being a coward was the only thing that had kept him alive these last years, especially as any attempt at redemption or honour resulted in death—or a close encounter with it—on his part. If being a coward kept him alive, then he could accept it. 

But, still, it didn’t stop the word from hurting.

Thor tried to move between them, apparently only now seeing how much of a disaster this meeting was going, but Sif caught his foot and sent him tumbling to the ground. Suddenly, they were rolling on the floor, Thor trying desperately to subdue Sif without injuring her and Sif trying her damnedest to end up on top. If Sif wasn’t cursing his name and glaring at the brothers in fury, it would have been just like a scene from their childhood. Loki knew that the best way to end these tussles was simply to wait it out. Thor would win eventually.

And, of course, that’s when the whole thing took a turn. Sif hissed, and rolled Thor onto his back, menacing over him. “Forgive me, Thor, this is the quickest way to break a witch’s spell.” In a flash, her sword was out, but held the wrong way. She grasped the handle, drawing it up, presumably to smash the hilt of it into Thor’s skull and break the so-called ‘spell’. 

Instantly, Loki felt rage cloud over his vision, and he lunged with daggers summoned from his pocket dimension.

He could accept her anger. He could tolerate her hateful words and her ire. But one thing that he would not stand and watch was her hurting his brother. 

Sif rolled out of the way and turned on him, brandishing her sword as Loki stood in front of Thor defensively.

His brother got up, hurriedly and clumsily. _“Stop!”_ he commanded, breathing raggedly, eye flickering between the two of them. Reluctantly, Loki vanished his weapons to his pocket dimension, and Sif put hers away as well.

More calmly, Thor put up a hand in Sif’s direction as he again manoeuvred his way between them. “Sif, I am not under some spell.”

“You just cannot see it,” she insisted, glaring.

“And you can?” Loki challenged. “Since when do you know anything about seiðr?”

“Since when do you know anything about Thor? What reason does he have to trust _you?”_

“Sif…” said Thor softly, _weakly._ Loki realized he would not likely receive any more support from his brother on this. Sif was his friend, an _old friend_ at that, one who had not betrayed him at his first opportunity for his own protection as a certain brother had done. And that was the difference, wasn’t it? Trust. Something he had lost, did not deserve, and could not earn.

She poked at his chest with an outstretched finger, which shook him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t even noticed that she had advanced or that she was continuing this tirade. Loki made no move to react; it was the best way to deflate a situation like this—to not react. Which was _hard,_ considering… 

“Was deceiving all of Asgard for four years not enough for you? Have your throne elsewhere, but leave Thor out of this. He is a good king. He doesn’t need your witchcraft interfering with his mind. He doesn’t want your so-called _help,”_ she snarled, and Loki took a step back.

 _“Your so-called help.”_ The line kept repeating in his head, no matter how much he wanted it to stop. 

_She’s wrong._

_You have to know that she’s wrong._

_Thor’s glad you’re here and helping. Not that he needs it_ —

_“Leave Thor out of this.”_

— _He is a good king, but—_

_“Your so-called help.”_

His hands clenched into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms. He desperately wanted to fight back, to say something perfectly cutting that would bring her low. He held his tongue though knowing that it was bound to make the situation worse. Loki held his ground, unblinking, even though everything inside him screamed to get out.

“—Do you really think that anybody _wants you here,_ after everything you’ve done? You shouldn’t have come back from the dead, you conniving Jotunn _snake.”_

Jotunn.

How the _Hel_ did she know—

Thor.

Thor must have told her at some point. He couldn’t help the instant hurt of betrayal.

_Breathe._

_“_ _—a_ _fter everything you’ve done_ — _”_

_“_ _—s_ _o-called—”_

_Breathe._

_It’s not that hard._

_Breathe._

_“—you shouldn’t have come back from the dead—”_

The room swam around him, and Loki became faintly aware of things going completely wrong around him. Their voices were muted and distant, though, as if they were speaking to him from the other end of a tunnel. His breathing felt thin, shallow—like the air hardly reached his lungs before escaping him. Everything in him screamed to flee, but his feet were rooted to the ground. There would be no running from this.  
  
He needed help, he thought weakly. His own thoughts were being drowned out by the roaring in the back of his head. Where was ‘get help’ when he actually needed it? In a desperate silent plea, he tried to look to his brother for that help.

Thor was—

Just _standing there._

_Watching._

He didn’t look _happy_ about it, but he wasn’t _doing_ anything, and—

_Why?_

Why was he just standing there watching them?

Sif, looking entirely smug at his loss of composure— _Thor wasn’t doing anything_ —continued: “You should have _at least_ had the decency to _stay_ dead the _first_ time.”

It was a low blow and she knew it.

That was the one and only thing that he and Thor had yet to talk their way through—Loki’s failed suicide attempt. He would be lying if he said he had not been avoiding that conversation as though it would ruin them, which it might. It was the subject that they still tread around like they were walking on eggshells—like the other would break if they even dared to mention it. 

The jab held the intended effect, and Loki set his teeth as his resolve waned and his urge to flee grew. His breathing hitched. Something was stabbing through his chest. Dread—no. Just… mild _acceptance._ That Sif was just _like_ this. That was how she was, and there was nothing he could do about it except wait out her ire and try not to let her words affect him.

Sif smiled and turned back to Thor, thoroughly pleased with her degradation.

And—

Thor just stood there.

Why—?

_Why?_

Did he _agree?_

“What the _Hel_ is going on in here?” asked a new voice from the foyer. _Brunnhilde._

Loki had not heard her knock, but… 

_Thank the Norns._

She carried a thin folder in one hand and her cell phone in the other, watching the three of them with wary, suspicious eyes. “Thor?” Then she looked at Sif. “Who are you?”

“I am Sif, shield-maiden of Asgard.”

“Asgard doesn’t have shield-maidens anymore,” the Valkyrie corrected flatly. She spotted Loki, who stood rigid behind Sif as he tried to get his thoughts under control. He knew he looked pathetic and on the verge of having a panic attack, but he was so desperate for someone to do something. She read him instantly, her face a mix of surprise and unexpected concern. “Lackey?”

Sif snorted, and Loki couldn’t help a small flinch at the sound.

His thoughts still spun in circles. They trapped him, pinning him down like a bug on a board. 

_“—J_ _otunn snake_ — _”_

 _“—_ _everything you’ve done_ — _”_

 _“—_ _Your so-called help_ — _”_

 _“—_ _stay gone_ — _”_ _  
_ _  
_ He thought he heard Brunnhilde calling his name. All at once, it became too much. The Valkyrie could handle Sif. Right now, he needed to go.

He turned, practically sprinting into the kitchen and away from the others. The room was cool and dim and so much calmer than the tempest brewing in the living room. He didn’t bother to turn on a light and leaned against the fridge. His legs trembled under him and slowly he lowered himself to the ground, his back sliding against the cold metal. Everything was shaking. He brought up his left hand, watching it tremble. His palms were bleeding, fingernails bloody. He must have broken skin. When had that happened? He hadn’t—He didn’t even _feel_ it.

Sif and Brunnhilde were arguing about… something. He could hear them, but the words were cacophonous, a random jumble of sounds that didn’t resonate with him. They were shouting at each other and then nothing. The door slammed, echoing through the house. He worried that Brunnhilde might have left. He had hoped that maybe she would stay. Maybe she would defend him out of a duty to her prince if not friendship. He knew he didn’t deserve to call her a friend, but he had hoped that maybe, just maybe, she had thought of him as one. 

Footsteps echoed through the house, walking towards the kitchen. A prouder Loki would have conjured a glamour to make himself seem more put together, but now he was so tired. Anyways, it was just Sif coming to berate him again. 

“Loki.”  
  
He snapped his head up, surprised to see Brunnhilde standing in the kitchen doorway. The light streamed in from behind her, and, even though she was dressed in flannel and jeans, she looked every inch an avenging Valkyrie.  
  
It took her a moment to see him on the floor in the dark, but when she did, the hard look on her face softened with concern. 

He avoided her gaze, focusing instead on his hand. He turned it over, picturing it shift as the Giant grabbed his forearm. It was supposed to burn with cold, but it didn't. He did not actually change forms, _thankfully,_ but he could _see it._ His skin was blue and cold to the touch, fingernails black and claw-like. He nearly chuckled to himself. That was fitting. It was similar claws that had dug into his own palm hard enough to draw blood. He hadn’t even felt it.

_Monster._

_“—_ _conniving Jotunn—_ _”_

_“—_ _stay gone the first time—_ _”_

He _wanted to._ He wanted to stay _dead_ the first time. Why couldn’t anybody see that? He didn’t want to be here any more than they wanted him to be.

Did Thor agree?

He hadn’t _disagreed._

Brunnhilde moved, nearly startling him. He looked up again, watching her warily as she slowly walked toward him. She kept her hands out in front of her as if he was some animal that could be easily frightened away. He resented the comparison, even if he recognized it as true. He was just a pathetic thing curled up on the kitchen floor.

“Loki, you’re bleeding,” she said as she came closer, crouching down to be level with him.

He knew that, thanks, but what did it matter if he was bleeding? It was just filthy Jotunn blood after all.

“Yes,” he agreed, watching his hand tremble.

She let out an exasperated sound, and gently took his hand in her own. He was suddenly guilty about the blood and for dirtying everything again. He felt another hand on his arm, trying to pull him to his feet, and he flinched. It was just Brunnhilde; there was nothing to worry about. Yet, he couldn’t help the flutter of panic in his chest. She led him into the living room and directed him to the couch. “Sit,” she commanded, and he did. “What happened?”

“Sif—” _that was Thor. Where was he earlier?_ “—didn’t mean that, Loki,” he said, and Loki could sense his brother at his side, slightly dipping the couch cushions under his weight, and he tried not to lean into him.

Thor had done _nothing._

_Nothing._

Because he _agreed._

_And why should he not?_

“Sure,” drawled the Valkyrie, taking a spot on Loki’s other side. She had procured a bundle of gauze from somewhere and began wrapping his hand as she talked. “I was standing outside. I heard most of it.” She scoffed humorlessly. “She damn well sounded like she meant it.”

Thor didn’t seem willing to accept that as an answer though. “You know how she is,” he said to Loki, lowering his tone into something sympathetic. He did not want _sympathy,_ he wanted to be _alone._ “She is used to fighting over everything.”

On his other side, the wrapping of his hand stopped. He turned back to the Valkyrie and saw her tightly clutching the gauze in anger. Her jaw was clenched, and she looked moments away from snapping. “Are you _defending her?”_ Brunnhilde said dangerously. “You heard what she said. You heard what she said about your own brother to his face. You heard her basically say that Loki should have stayed dead. So you better not be defending her.”

 _And he didn’t do anything_ —

“I am _not_ defending her.”

“Good, ‘cause I was about to hit you.” Valkyrie took a deep breath, but her eyes didn’t lose the anger. “Why the Hel didn’t you stop her, Majesty?”

Loki stood on shaky legs, unsure if he could hear Thor’s half-hearted excuses. Brunnhilde tried to grab his wrist, and he snapped it out of her grip, pulling the muscles sharply. 

He made his way out through the back door into the frigid October air, letting the door slam shut behind him. The rain drenched him, soaked his hair in seconds. It had not sounded that heavy a minute ago.

Ignoring the weather, Loki strode into the field that sprawled behind the house. It wasn’t that he blamed his brother—Loki knew that he had warranted more than a little distrust. There was just that part of him leftover from Thanos that screamed, _“run!”_ every time something did not go to plan.

He snapped his fingers above his head in a teleportation spell he had done countless times, unable to ignore the urge any longer.

He did, however, ignore their calls after him.

* * *

It was a Friday. Peter didn’t know the exact date because he could never remember those things for more than a few minutes at a time (especially after being wiped from the Earth for five years) it was _Friday,_ though, and that was _awesome._ The weekend approached and that was all that mattered; a short break from homework, the unfamiliar faces of his classmates, and the terrible feeling of _wrong_ that he got every time he entered the school building.

The smallest things stood out; how the posters with quirky lines from Shakespeare in his English classroom were missing, how the cafeteria trays were now a different colour, and how the door on the second bathroom stall on the third floor had been repaired. Which was a good thing. None of it was _bad,_ just… different. Different enough that he remembered how time had passed without him 

The bad came in the form of people. Half of the people in the school had grown up and graduated, replaced by kids who should have been in middle school. It was weird seeing the younger siblings of his old classmates in the same grade as him. No doubt the siblings found it odd as well. What was even weirder was that some of the younger siblings were now older, and some of the older ones were now younger. 

Ned was still in his grade, _thankfully,_ as were MJ, Flash, and a couple of others from the Decathlon team. He couldn’t be happy that they had _died,_ but he was grateful that they could return to each other. Well, except for Flash.

Doctor Banner snapped everyone back in April, a little after spring break, so they had already been through midterms. Of course, that didn’t seem to matter to the school board, who declared that they had the rest of the year off until September when school would start again. Never mind that they only had a couple of months left until finals, they still had to start the _whole year over again._ It was ridiculous.

Though apparently, a lot of new stuff happened in five years and there was some new material that they had yet to learn. There was a picture of a black hole, now. Peter hadn’t thought that was possible, but he was overjoyed to see the grainy snapshot. Quantum sciences were a class option now, and Peter jumped on that as soon as he could. Some things never seemed to change though. English grammar didn’t change. Math stayed the same. And history… well, it was _history._

The teachers tried to make the new material exciting enough to make up for the fact that they had to repeat the year, but the new courses did not help quell the anger of the entire student body. The director of the board had his house covered in toilet paper for at least a month. 

On the first day back to school, all that anyone could talk about was being Vanished. One person from his gym class said they had gotten dusted on the toilet. The stories only got more and more ridiculous from there. Quite a few had been on the field trip at the time, so that was relatively normal. Others were in class, at practice, skipping school, and so forth.

Peter, on the other hand, avoided the topic like the plague.

He needed no reminders of his death on Titan, clawing at the Iron Man suit as his body fell to pieces. Most people said they didn’t feel it—turning into dust. A few said they felt a pins and needles sensation. Peter felt it in its entirety. He felt every second, and it _hurt_ —like his nerves were being fried at the endings and there was nothing he could do about it. His spider-sense was going off the rails, _screaming_ that there was danger somewhere, but he couldn’t _do_ anything about it.

Sometimes he dreamed about it—being Vanished. He dreamed that he was walking through ankle-deep water, looking for someone— _anyone,_ but it was empty. Just an orange-tinged sky and water that rose very, _very_ slowly until he drowned.

Then he would wake up, drenched in sweat, breathing hard as his pulse returned to normal.

Sleeping was… difficult. Before being Vanished, he could fall asleep in seconds, passing out after some deep breaths and a few sleep-quick tricks that Tony had taught him. Not anymore.

Sleep came slowly, and was always interrupted, sometimes by the water, sometimes by the building coming down on him as Toomes took out the pillars and—

Better not to think about that.

Decathlon practice was just finishing up, and once again, he was tired and drifting off. MJ was probably going to tease him about it later. That was fine. It was always good-natured and friendly. It felt a lot less like the world had ended when some things stayed the same.

“According to the United Nations, how many countries are there on Earth?” asked MJ from the platform, reading from a new package. She looked at the number skeptically with narrowed eyes.

“One-hundred-ninety-five,” answered Abe after he pressed the bell.

“Two-hundred-three,” she corrected after the allotted five seconds for the other team to answer. Just another difference. Five years ago, the answer would have been one-ninety-five, now the world had eight extra countries to account for. When had that happened?

“What river runs through Washington D.C.?”

Abe dinged the bell again. “Potomac.”

MJ nodded. “Correct.” She looked between the members seated at the table on the platform. There were a few new players that were almost always on more than those returning from being Vanished. It only made sense; Peter had to admit. Half of the questions he thought he knew the answers to were wrong. There were new elements, discoveries in quantum physics, new world leaders, new _countries._ Some of the questions even covered things that had happened during the poorly named ‘Blip’. MJ asked the next question: “Name the country that divided into three separate states four years after the creation of a set of accords which bear its previous name.”

That one Peter knew, even though geography had never been his strong suit, and despite the awful wording that was normal for the people who wrote these things. He rang the bell and answered: “Sokovia.”

Technically, the old Accords were irrelevant now. The UN had put something together that made everyone more or less happy. ‘Enhanced individuals’ could no longer be detained without trial, which was one of the main issues. Naturally, a few countries didn’t like giving the Avengers permission to wander around in their backyards, but most understood, especially after Thanos, that it was better to act first and ask questions later when it came to large threats.

“Correct. Final category: elements of the periodic table.” She turned the page, and Peter snapped to attention and fought a smile; this was _his_ topic. “What is the heaviest naturally occurring element?”

Peter got to the bell half a second before Flash. “Uranium.” They’d had this question before.

“Correct. What silver-white metal is more commonly found in meteoric rock than in the Earth’s crust?”

He had no competition this time. “Iridium.”

“Created in 2022 by the country it was named for, what is element one-hundred-twenty?”

Shoot. He wasn’t around for that. What was… they were talking about the new elements in chemistry a month ago. Why couldn’t he remember?

One of the new members—a girl with short black hair that reminded him of Cindy—answered a beat later: “Wakandium.”

Right. That was a thing now. Shuri had made a particle accelerator, and sometime after the Snap,a few other Wakandan scientists had started to look into it. They blew up the accelerator after keeping the new element stable for a few seconds. Shuri had been furious that they had destroyed it and half of her lab, but Wakanda got an element to name.

MJ looked at her tiredly, then eyed the other side. “Would anyone else like to answer?” she offered flatly, looking so completely _done_ with them.

The girl that reminded him of Cindy (Peter couldn’t remember her name for the life of him) furrowed her brows and sat up straighter. “Was that not…” she trailed off.

Peter looked between MJ and the new girl, squinting. Wakandium was right, wasn’t it?

“No, you were right,” said MJ, raising her free hand a little to wave her off. “You just forgot the bell.” She gave a dry frown and let that sit in silence for a moment. “So, the other team can have at it.”

Flash practically slammed his fist down on the bell, the sound reverberating through the room and making Peter’s spider-sense itch like crazy. “Wakandium,” he repeated loudly, and MJ rolled her eyes.

Completely ignoring him, she went back to reading: “Last question: What element has the symbol ‘V’?”

Flash dinged the bell again, more softly this time. “Vibranium.”

“Nope.”

No, Vibranium was ‘Vb’. Peter rang in. “Vanadium,” he said.

“Correct.” She shuffled the papers and tucked them into a cabinet in the podium. “That’s it.”

Everyone left the tables all at once, dispersing around the room to pick up their stuff, which was splayed out on the floor like laundry. Mr. Harrington thanked them all for coming, then disappeared out the side door that flowed into the parking lot.

Peter grabbed his backpack off the floor, swinging it over his shoulder. He was easy for him to lift, but he knew it must have been heavy; MJ had complained about it earlier when she tried to move it out of the way. It hadn’t felt too heavy to him; just another little silver lining of the spider bite—he could carry around his whole locker in his backpack and never feel the difference.

“Peter!” called Ned, jogging up to him from the raised platform. “Are you leaving already?”

“Uh,” he stumbled, squinting slightly. “Why wouldn’t I?” He had a ton of homework to be done, mostly from his quantum sciences class. It was interesting for sure, but the math was hard. After only a month of it, he had a newfound respect for what Tony and the Avengers had managed to accomplish with their quantum time machine.

Ned’s shoulders rose then fell. “I think that Stu Co’s hosting a movie night or something in half an hour.” He glanced back to where the rest of the team were collecting their things and mingling about.

“I got homework. Next time?”

Ned nodded, and they did their secret fist bump sequence that they had been perfecting since the sixth grade. “I’ll see you later.”

Peter took the subway home while listening to some of his favourite songs through his earbuds. He enjoyed watching the people on the trains and wondering about their lives. Most of them were unrecognizable. Once, he thought he saw someone he had met as Spider-man. He might have helped them get their cat down from a perilous window ledge once upon a time.

With music playing in his ears, Peter got off the train and started the short distance towards his apartment, stepping to the beat of the song. To occupy his mind, he avoided the cracks in the pavement but kept his feet as close to them as he could. It was good for balance, and distracted him from the cold. New York’s autumns were _freezing,_ even though their winters were worse. The snow stopped trains, crashed cars, and coated buildings with slippery ice that Peter had a hard time sticking to. Being Spider-man in winter was a nightmare.

His head was looking down, so he didn’t notice the tall man leaning against his building until he was practically right beside him. He glanced at the man, not registering the familiar face until he was forced to do a double-take.

“Hi, Loki.” He tugged out his earbuds and stuffed them down the pocket of his puffy jacket, already regretting that; he would have to untangle them later. “What’s up?” Peter grinned at the god, about to launch into a monologue about how he left his playlist running a whole day until he saw the way Loki was hunched over. The god was usually so proud, always careful to have the perfect posture befitting of a prince. Seeing him practically curled against the wall, let Peter instantly know something was wrong. Something was very wrong, and he had to play his cards right if he wanted Loki to open up to him instead of shutting down.

“You okay?”

“Eight,” Loki said sharply while glaring at the sidewalk.

Peter felt his eyes bulge as the admission cut through his thoughts. _Eight?_ It had been months since the incident with Doom, and that was the worst it had ever been. Ones, twos, and the occasional three were normal. Once there was a five over a particularly infuriating trade deal. They’d talked on the phone for about an hour, and afterwards, he said it had gone down to two.

Peter looked at his friend closely. He looked _terrible,_ leaning against the building, and slumping over with his head down. His eyes were red-rimmed and dull. His skin was paler than normal, and exhaustion read on every inch of him. Loki was wearing what looked like human clothes—a green hoodie and jeans—but upon further consideration, Peter imagined it was just an illusion.

_What happened?_

Loki was good at not letting people get under his skin. Peter had seen him verbally attacked on the street without provocation for doing nothing, and the god just shrugged it off. His self-control was equal parts admirable as it was disturbing.

To see him without his usual composure and smooth quips… Something bad must have happened—something very, _very_ bad.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter offered, watching Loki’s eyes flit between him and the ground. He was fiddling with a bandage on his hand, the fingers anxiously rubbing the edge of the cloth. “I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want…”

Loki’s shoulders rose and fell with his sigh. “Later, perhaps.”

Peter hummed, then tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Do you want to come inside?”

Loki nodded, and they crept inside the building, careful to hide from the landlady who had seen the former villain once and called the police. It had not been fun. They had practically raided the building, and Peter only barely managed to hide his spider suit in time. Legally, Loki had been cleared of all charges by the UN ( _how,_ nobody but the original Avengers, Wanda and Fury knew), but that didn’t stop random New Yorkers from calling the cops on him for just being there. It also didn’t stop the police from responding to those calls, sometimes in extreme measures.

The heated air of the building entrance greeted them, warming Peter considerably. It felt like absolute bliss compared to the near-polar temperatures outside. How Loki wasn’t shivering, Peter had no idea.

The door to the apartment swung open smoothly, and Peter tossed his backpack on the couch. He liked to get his homework done early on Fridays, so he could have the whole weekend to relax. He was near-obsessive about it, May teased him about it often enough. But some things were more important than homework, some things like a reformed God of Mischief turned kinda superhero.

Loki all but collapsed into the corner seat of the L-shaped couch, tucking his legs underneath him after magicking away his boots. The human clothes faded into his usual getup of green and black leather. It looked wildly uncomfortable, but it must be at least somewhat breathable as Thor and Loki seemed to live in the stuff.

Peter tugged off his sneakers, and removed the thick blue jacket that made him feel like a marshmallow. He padded into the kitchen, digging out a bag of chips from the cabinet beside the fridge. He searched for a bag of pretzels for himself, knowing that they had to be in the back somewhere. He absolutely devoured pretzels, so May liked to hide them from him. Her attempts were half-hearted at best and never succeeded.

He walked over to the couch and flopped down on Loki’s left side, wordlessly offering him the bag. The Asgardian took it, stared blankly at the label.

Loki opened his mouth to say something, then closed it after a second of thought. A minute of awkward silence later, filled only by the crunching of pretzels. Peter wasn’t much of the silent type, but he could allow it until Loki was ready to talk. Finally, the god spoke with a raw voice “One of Thor’s friends returned to Asgard.”

Peter looked up from the pretzels and leaned the bag against the back of the couch on his other side. Loki’s face was completely blank, revealing no emotion in contrast to his voice, which sent shivers down Peter’s spine.

“She and I have never…” Loki trailed off, eyes staring dully at a spot on the carpet.

“Got along?” Peter filled in, and he nodded slowly.

“That is one way of putting it.”

There was more. There was _definitely_ more because a conversation with a person he didn’t like was _not_ something that got him to _eight._ Peter had seen him talk down a room full of journalists with words that said absolutely nothing. It was his _thing,_ making hostile people amicable, and convincing them that they were on the same side. If he couldn’t, he ignored them. This was something different because Loki didn’t _get_ riled up by others. At least, not that Peter had seen.

“When did she arrive?” he asked, partly as a diversion and partly just to fill the ever-stretching silence that made him focus way too deeply on how loud his breathing sounded.

“Maybe… four hours ago?” Loki answered, setting the unopened bag of chips to the side.

“And when did you decide to come here?”

“... Four hours ago.”

“You were waiting outside my building for _four hours?”_

“Yes.” Loki nodded once. “What of it?”

“You could have called me,” Peter suggested. “It’s _freezing_ out there.” He had a study block four hours ago. He could have done something. He could have _helped._

Loki shrugged. “The cold does not bother me, and you were in school.”

Still.

_He should have called._

Peter sighed lightly, leaning back into the couch, and letting his head bounce. He looked back to Loki and watched as he mirrored his position. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he looked like he had been awake for days.

Wait.

“What time is it in New Asgard?” asked Peter, coming to an unpleasant realization. How long _had_ he been awake? A time zone map came to mind—one he had looked at for Decathlon—and Peter tried to picture how many lines over Norway was from the east coast.

“Midnight,” Loki said before Peter could come up with the answer.

Peter thought for a moment, wondering if May would be okay with it, but asked anyway: “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” He didn’t really think that Loki would want to return to New Asgard, not if whoever caused an _eight_ was still there, which was more than likely.

The Asgardian nodded, though he seemed to pause before he asked: “Will your aunt be all right with this?”

Peter shrugged. May was working the night shift, so if he didn’t tell her, she wouldn’t know. All the same, he probably should tell her because not telling her would get him in a heap of trouble later if she found out. “I can let her know. She’ll be fine.”

In truth, May had been less than thrilled about Peter making friends with Loki in the beginning. Peter guessed that it was only natural, Loki was a reformed villain, after all, and sometimes he did act a little… murder-y. (Peter couldn’t tell you how many times he had to have the “No, we cannot stab them” conversation with the god.) Then, came the incident with the Doombots where Peter nearly cracked open his skull and damaged his ribs. Loki healed him, and May had started treating the Asgardian like any other of Peter’s friends (not that there were many) when he came by. Plus, he thought his aunt was charmed by his accent and the way he kissed her hand and called her ‘Lady May’ when they met. Loki really knew how to lay it on smooth when he needed to. 

Yeah, she would be fine with it.

He shot off a quick text explaining the situation, and took a few spare blankets out of the closet, setting them on the coffee table and letting Loki pick through them for one he wanted. The Asgardian unravelled a Star-Wars themed one with a picture of three Star Destroyers on it and left it on the longer side of the couch. It was a thinner blanket, nowhere near warm enough for New York’s October, but Loki didn’t seem to take the coolness of the air into account. Then again, he probably had warmer clothes in his magical space pocket.

Peter thought that his friend might immediately fall asleep given how exhausted he looked, but Loki somehow managed to stay awake for the next few hours. They talked for a bit about nothing important, simply filling the silence. Eventually when even talking got too tiring, Peter put on the new season of _Star Wars: The Clone Wars,_ keeping the volume low and the lights dim. Soon enough, Loki drifted off with the background noise, leaning into the corner of the couch with the blanket tangled around his legs.

Peter kept the TV on, partially as white noise and partially because he needed to know how it ended. Leftovers were in the fridge; spaghetti that surprisingly didn’t taste like it had been burnt several times over. Peter warmed it up in the microwave and ate on the couch (only because May would never find out. Eating dinner on the couch was a _sin_ ), keeping one eye on the show and one on Loki, who slept like the dead.

 _The Clone Wars_ ended, and Peter tiptoed across the room to the bathroom to get ready for bed. After brushing his teeth, washing his face, and putting on pyjamas, he came back out into the living room. Loki hadn’t moved since he left.

Peter quietly stepped over to the couch and lay down on the shorter side, which was still long enough to comfortably fit his height if he curled up a little. He tossed one of the blankets over himself—a thicker one—and tucked a pillow behind his head, waiting in the dim lighting to fall asleep. Sometimes, that could take hours.

Only, it _didn’t,_ fantastically, and after only a bit of tossing and turning, his eyes drifted shut into a blessedly needed sleep.

* * *

Peter woke to the sounds of the kitchen; toasters ticking, something sizzling, and utensils clinking. May was home and making breakfast, and nothing smelled like smoke… _yet._ The toaster sprung, and he jumped awake, remnants of sleep fading to the back of his mind.

Loki was still sleeping despite the noise and the fact that it had been more than twelve hours since he arrived. If Peter was checking the time right, they had gone to sleep at around nine. That meant it was Saturday morning or more likely, afternoon. May had a night shift on Fridays, so she slept in on Saturdays. A quick glance at his cellphone’s clock told him that he was right and it was 11:23 am.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” said May, as Peter looked over. She stood by the stove, flipping bacon, which explained the sizzling noise. “You certainly slept in today.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed, taking in the savoury aroma of the food.

“Late night?”

He slowly got up from the couch, walking over to the kitchen table, where there were already a few slices of buttered toast on a plate. Choosing one that was slightly underdone, and taking a bite, he replied with his mouth full: “Not exactly.” He swallowed. They went to sleep at _nine._ “How long for the bacon?”

“Just another minute,” she answered, which probably meant she was close to forgetting about it and accidentally burning it or something else. Peter vowed to keep one eye on the bacon, and the other on his friend, who was miraculously still sleeping.

As if to prove his earlier point, May stopped with a groan and asked: “Could you watch it? I’ve got to start the coffee.”

“No problem.”

She wiped her hands on her leggings before shuffling over to the coffee pot and starting the machine. “So,” May drawled, lowering her voice to a whisper that could barely be heard over the sizzles. “Do you want to tell me the reason for this little last-minute sleepover?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t have the full story yet.” It wasn’t untrue, but he also didn’t know if he _would_ tell May once this was over. The reason for Loki’s sudden eight and resulting appearance wasn’t his business to tell. That was if Loki told even him at all. 

For a god who was famed for his speech, he was surprisingly good at not saying a lot about himself.

They ate breakfast in relative calm, talking quietly about school, work, and relaying funny stories. Peter shared a couple of memes he found hysterical—the usual. Halfway through, Loki woke up, momentarily confused about where he was.

“Good… morning?” he asked, standing up slowly and blinking the sleep from his eyes. It was strange to see Loki so dishevelled and sleep-fogged. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-ish,” Peter answered, quickly swallowing the last bite of his toast. “Want some breakfast?”

“Closer to brunch,” May corrected.

Loki looked puzzled. “‘Brunch’?”

Right. Not from Earth. Peter really had to remember that more often. “Breakfast. Lunch. Brunch,” he explained, not missing a beat.

His friend chuckled softly at that. Peter found early on that he enjoyed Earth’s mash-up words and culture things. After Thanos, The Avengers had hosted a big ‘Thank God, We’re Alive!’ dinner. There was lasagna, and when the Asgardians asked what it was, Peter told them it was ‘spaghetti flavoured cake’. Of course, none of them knew what spaghetti was, so the joke was lost on them, but Tony basically inhaled his drink.

“How does brunch differ from breakfast?” asked Loki, looking at the food as he took a seat at the table beside Peter. “These are all breakfast foods, are they not?”

“They are,” Peter said, handing him a plate. “Normal people don’t eat breakfast at eleven-thirty.”

“And you are not normal people?”

“Definitely not,” May laughed as she pushed the plate of toast towards their side of the table.

They traded quips and jokes until all the food was entirely _gone_ because, between Peter’s spider-related appetite and Loki eating enough for several people, they could consume enough to feed an army.

As May was moving the dishes to the sink, she asked: “So what do you plan to do today?”

Peter shrugged and deflected the question onto Loki: “I don’t know. Any ideas?”

He wiped his lips with a napkin politely. “Well,” he suggested, “we have not yet been to that museum.”

* * *

They had finished helping May with the dishes, got dressed (because walking around in pyjamas or Asgardian clothes would be strange for everyone involved), then jumped onto the subway. There weren’t as many people as there usually were; they’d slept in past rush hour. Loki had wanted to teleport, and Peter had firmly objected. He hadn’t experienced New York’s transportation system yet, and it was about time that he did.

Loki didn’t seem to mind it, but Peter thought he was more amused with Peter’s constant commentary than anything else. He offered Loki one of his headphones, and more often than not found Loki completely baffled by the lyrics of the songs. Which, hey, if Peter had not grown up on Earth, he wouldn’t have a single clue what they were talking about either.

When they had reached the Met, the pair walked the short distance from the station in the cold air. It wasn’t raining, just cloudy, and so, _so_ cold. May had told him to bring a jacket, and for once in his life, Peter had decided that he should actually listen to that advice. Boy, was he glad he did. New York was _freezing._

Luckily, the museum had heat. Peter paid the few dollars in admission fee, and Loki summoned some money from nowhere under the table. Peter didn’t exactly want to be a partner for capital fraud, and really, _really_ hoped that it was real. The person in the booth hadn’t noticed anything amiss, so he decided to tell himself that it wasn’t counterfeit.

“Where do you want to go first?” Peter asked as they stood in front of the enormous directory map.

Loki’s eyes flickered between different spots on the map. “I don’t have much of a preference,” he answered, reviewing the names of the galleries: Modern Art, European Paintings, Arms and Armour.

Peter hummed as he perused the map too. Briefly, he wondered how much of the ‘ancient’ art actually seemed ancient to Loki.

“Maybe there’s a Nordic art section where we can find a picture of you,” Peter said with a smug grin, earning him a flat look from the god. He chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, it’s not my fault that you’re as old as dirt.”

Loki smirked, a look that promised all the world’s mischief. “Say that again, and you might find yourself locked in a bathroom stall with all your clothes suddenly missing.”

Peter burst out laughing, following his friend as they wandered into the museum.

They walked around aimlessly, occasionally making jokes because art from the Middle Ages could be hilarious sometimes. It made Peter wonder what was going on back then. He asked Loki, but he said that he had been a kid at the time and didn’t know any more than Peter.

After finishing with the Medieval Ages, they continued into the rest of Europe. Loki seemed mostly amused by the ‘depictions of Midgardian follies’ until they stumbled into another area, and Loki paled as if he saw a ghost. 

He was frozen in the middle of the room, staring wide-eyed at a portrait of Shakespeare.

Worry sunk heavily in Peter’s stomach, and he suddenly wondered if taking the god to the Met was a mistake. He didn’t know what was wrong about the painting, but it was clearly messing with Loki. The last thing Loki needed right now was something else to set him off.  
  
“Loki?” Peter tried to nudge his friend, but he might have well been made of stone. “Are you okay?”  
  
That suddenly seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. “Yes, sorry.” He shook his head. “That painting took me a bit off guard.” 

“You know about Shakespeare?” asked Peter, watching Loki’s expression morph into something he couldn’t recognize. It startled him any time Loki revealed that he knew something about Earth’s culture.

“I _knew_ Shakespeare, though we all called him Will _”_

Peter felt his eyes momentarily widen out of his skull, then remembered that it made complete sense. Loki was, like, a thousand years old. It was reasonable, but at the same time… “You _knew_ him?”

Loki nodded, then smiled over at him. His eyes didn’t reflect it, they were still full of a peculiar sadness. “I even acted in one or two plays. He was brilliant, but a complete nightmare of a director. He was so particular about the details of his plays, and we had to rehearse for hours to get everything to his liking. We didn’t mind much though, because he bought the company many pints of beer after. ”

“You’re kidding,” Peter deadpanned.

“Not at all.”

They kept going as Loki talked about the time he spent on Earth, getting into more trouble than he cared to admit and antics that he would never reveal to his brother. Apparently, Loki had a hand in quite a few historical events and was nearly hung for witchcraft one time (which was ‘incredibly fitting, but terribly inconvenient’, as he put it).

Soon, the trip to the art museum became a scavenger hunt of ‘Loki’s misadventures on Earth” filled with random stories about the past. All the stories were fun to listen to until they came upon an artifact that Loki seemed strangely careful around—a vase with a sigil carved on it, white porcelain with accents of gold and blue, and about a foot tall. Apparently, according to Loki, the symbol was a rune for ‘containment’ and there was probably a spirit or something trapped in there.

Peter’s blood froze.“You’re entirely serious, aren’t you?”

Loki hummed. “It may be possible that it was removed, or has since perished, but that is not likely.” He walked around the rectangular glass case that prevented guests from touching, examining it carefully. “Best to leave it alone. It was, presumably, contained for a reason.”

And didn’t _that_ just terrify him.

They perused the museum for another hour or two, pointing out random things that caught their attention until eventually, they called it a day to get some food. Technically, it was dinner for Loki and Peter could always eat, so it was a good stopping point.

They were sharing some MacDonald’s fries on a bench in the park, which had long since been cleared of garbage. The school offered it as volunteer work as part of getting their necessary hours for graduation. Which was ironic because Peter felt dangerously tempted to put ‘thirty hours as Spider-man’ on the signage sheet just so that he wouldn’t have to do it (not that they would take him seriously).

Obviously, that was not an option. So, he had signed up for the garbage clean-up. This wasn’t _fun,_ but MJ and Ned signed up as well, and that made it somewhat tolerable.

In any case, Peter was bundled up tightly in his winter jacket, trying not to shiver. He was wearing at least four layers, and somehow, he was _still_ freezing. He tried not to let it get to him, and hoped that Loki wouldn’t notice. He didn’t want his friend to think of him as weak, but of course, he noticed. Because he always did.

“You’re cold,” he noted, looking at Peter curiously.

His teeth chattered as he replied: “How are you _not?”_ He uncurled an arm, which had been wrapped around his chest, to tug at Loki’s green hoodie. It was thick, but it was just that. A _hoodie._ How was he not shivering? He was going to get hypothermia in all this weather. Or maybe there was magic involved. There was usually magic involved. Peter had learned that lesson more than once over the past few months. If it couldn’t be explained, it was magic.

Loki didn’t answer, but Peter felt the surrounding air warm considerably, and the frost that lined the armrests of the bench melted away. Yup. _Magic._

“Thanks,” Peter breathed, feeling the shivers end. His teeth finally stopped clacking, and he let his arms slide down to his sides.

Loki nodded and passed over the fries. “Of course.” He looked thoughtfully around at the trees on the other side of the path. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For this. It was fun.”

Peter popped one of the smaller fries in his mouth. “It’s no problem,” he casually replied.

“I don’t—” Loki started, but cut himself off. He looked around at the relatively quiet park. There were people about, some riding bikes, others pushing strollers. Most were just walking and paying them no attention. He finished his earlier sentence with a small amount of hesitation: “I don’t know why you are so nice to me, Spider.”

Peter felt his eyebrows draw together. _What?_

Of all the questions, that was the last one he had expected. Sure, a lot of people thought Loki was a bad guy. But Peter knew better. Loki had helped in the fight against Thanos where it counted, he had changed his ways, and he had earned Thor’s trust back. Now, he was helping rebuild Asgard and they seemed to like him well enough. Plus, the UN said he was innocent, so there was that too.

On top of all that, Loki was Peter’s _friend._ He was kinda prickly sometimes, sure, but he was also caring. He just had his own way of showing it, and that way involved a lot of complaints and barbed insults. Peter knew that through all the dramatics, Loki would do anything for the people he loved, even lay his own life on the line. Yeah, he still got into all sorts of mischief and enjoyed riling up Tony by messing with Mr. Stark’s inventions, but he was definitely not evil. If anything, he was as much of a hero as his brother. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m a villain,” Loki said flatly. “The things I’ve done…” he trailed, eyes glassy.

“Everyone’s done things they regret,” Peter said, carefully keeping his voice warm. “I mean, I almost sank a ferry once.”

“And did anyone die?” asked Loki, absently staring at the cobblestones in front of his feet.

No. Nobody had died because Mr. Stark fixed it. He fixed Peter’s idiotic mistake and saved the people he had put in danger. “No,” he answered, somewhat defeated.

“Thousands.”

Loki didn’t elaborate any further, but the meaning was not lost on Peter.

_Thousands of lives._

Though, the number gave Peter a little pause. A few hundred died during the Battle of New York, but where did the rest come from? “Perhaps you risked the lives of some,” said Loki tonelessly in that voice he used to cover up whatever he was feeling. Peter thought… he thought it was guilt. “But it was an accident, was it not?”

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “It was.” That didn’t mean he couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after—what could have happened if Mr. Stark hadn’t come. What could have happened if he just _stayed out of it_ like he’d told him to do. But Loki was right. It _was_ an accident.

“Whereas, mine were not,” he finished, and Peter tensed in his seat.

_Were._

Not was, _were._

Multiple.

More than one.

Sometimes he forgot—as often as he forgot that Asgardians wouldn’t understand Earth culture—that Loki had killed people. Actually, _really_ killed people. And yeah, maybe the circumstances were more complicated than what he knew, but he did it.

And he helped fight Thanos. And he saved Asgard. And he had gone back and paid for the bagels even though he could have gotten away with it. And the UN said he wasn’t guilty. And he brought Doom to the Avengers after he hurt Peter.

And it was more complicated than that. It _had_ to be because the Loki he knew now… 

The most aggression he had seen from him so far was against a Doombot that had bashed in Peter’s skull and broke his ribs badly enough that he _still_ had to be careful about some of the movements he made. So in his book, aggression was more than justified.

So, why did he attack New York, and where did _‘thousands’_ come from?

That wasn’t the most important thing right now, though. The most important thing right now was Loki sitting on the bench and wondering why he deserved any kindness from the world. Peter knew how dangerous dark thoughts could be, and he wasn’t letting his friend go any deeper into it. Peter pushed the question from his mind and spoke. 

“Mr. Stark used to sell weapons for a living,” he said. It wasn’t a secret, but he still felt a slight pang of guilt at the admission. “The Black Widow used to be an assassin, and the Hulk once destroyed half of Harlem.”

Loki looked at him skeptically, eyebrows raised in a symmetrical arch on his forehead.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Peter racked his brain for the right words. What _was_ he trying to say? “Nobody’s perfect. We all mess up sometimes and make mistakes. It’s how you fix them that counts.”

There was a pause and Peter suddenly doubted everything he said. Did he say the right thing? Did he say enough? Loki’s face was blank and unreadable and Peter was just about to launch into another prep talk.

But then, Loki gave a weak smile, expression softening. Everything became alright again. 

Peter mirrored it and passed back the fries.

* * *

Loki returned from foldspace, emerging in his living room. The lights were off, meaning that Thor was either already asleep or at the training grounds. More than not these days, he favoured the latter, so that’s where Loki began heading. He went outside and through New Asgard on trails lit by magelights.

There weren’t any others outside, which was normal. It was cold and dark, and overall, _miserable._ The weather never quite cooperated like it did in Asgard. The rain came too often or too sparsely and there was never enough light. With Asgard’s twin suns, the sky was lit for more of the day than it was anywhere on Midgard. 

Unfortunately for Loki, it was raining again, although the downpour was not as heavy as the previous night.

As he came closer, Loki could hear the sounds of metal clashing, and a loud thump and ‘oof’ as someone was tossed to the ground. Then, familiar laboured breathing that sounded like his brother.

There were no walls—the training grounds were just a covered area of sand with practice weaponry on the sides—so, the Valkyrie noticed him a few seconds before he came under the roof. She straightened, coming out of her fighting form to lean her weight easily on one hip. 

“You’re an ass,” she said by way of greeting, and Thor looked up from where he was lying in the sand.

“Loki!” His face immediately lit up into a lively smile. There was dirt freckling his face, which made Loki crinkle his face in distaste. “You came back,” Thor said loudly, though he was still somewhat out of breath. More than that he looked… relieved.

Loki narrowed his eyes at him. “Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you just disappeared,” Brunnhilde answered accusingly, breathing hard. She brought a hand up to her face to wipe the sweat off her forehead. “You can’t just leave without telling anyone where you’re going.”

“Heimdall could see me.” He had removed the spell once he had decided to see Peter. Of course, that was only after he was sure that he would not be leaving for Vanaheim and staying there for the indefinite future.

“That’s not the point.” She glowered at him gratingly and brushed some of the sand off her leggings.

_Then what is?_

“You were missing for more than _twenty-four hours,”_ said Thor as he picked himself off the ground, dusting off his sweatpants. “We weren’t sure—” he took a deep breath “—if you were coming back.”

“Well,” Loki replied, casually tilting his head, “I did. All is well, brother.” He picked at his palms behind his back.

Thor shook his head and sighed morosely: “All is _not_ well. I am sorry, brother, I should have _done_ something.” He swallowed deeply and Loki saw his shoulders slump forward. “I should have stopped her. You’re my brother, Loki. It’s my job to—to protect you.”

Loki inhaled sharply, eyes falling to the ground. He did not… he did not _need_ protecting. And Thor… had not been doing that for some time. Which was not his fault. Loki had not made things easy.

“I’m sorry,” Thor finished, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder. His palm felt warm, if slightly sweaty. “She… won’t be coming back.”

 _“What?”_ Loki shot his brother a confused look. Thor wouldn’t _banish_ Sif over an outburst. No, not his closest friend throughout all their years on Asgard. Not Lady Sif with whom he had fought and trusted throughout everything. Not perfect Sif who could be both a maiden and a warrior and still have the approval of the court. Not Sif who had returned Thor from Earth after his banishment.

“I gave her a choice,” Thor explained with a slight frown. “I said she could stay here and apologize to you, or she could leave.”

“She left,” said Brunnhilde, cutting in. Loki had nearly forgotten that she was there. “I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

She was gone and would not be returning. Loki smiled grimly, letting the Valkyrie’s dry humour match his own.

Thor just looked torn, and they relented. “You know she’s wrong, right?” he asked somewhat carefully after the moment faded.

“About what?” Loki met his eye. _About which part,_ he meant, but couldn’t say.

_That he’s a traitor?_

_That he’s Jotunn?_

_(Hah. If only that detail were wrong)_

_That he isn’t wanted?_

_That he should have stayed dead?_

_That nobody wants him here?_

_That there is no fixing his mistakes?_

No.

_We all mess up sometimes and make mistakes. It’s how you fix them that counts._

Loki swallowed the questions as Thor stared into the ground, then looked him in the eye after a terse moment of silence.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Thor admitted like the sentimental oaf he was. “I’m glad you’re _alive,_ brother. I… I don’t know where I would be without you.” He sniffed, breathing shallow. “I hope you can forgive me one day. For not being a better brother to you, for failing you when you needed me.” 

Loki was not sure if he meant the incident with Sif, or his year with Thanos. Or even if he was referring to their centuries together on Asgard as Loki had been slowly swallowed by his brother’s shadow. He did not ask.

Thor’s eye was slowly welling with tears.

“It’s okay, brother,” the younger assured. Then he did something so unexpected of him, he even surprised himself. He pulled Thor into a hug. “You are trying.” Loki let the warmth of their bodies bleed together as Thor wrapped his arms around him tightly.

“I’ll do better,” Thor vowed, voice raw and full of sincerity that Loki did not know what to do with. “I promise, I will.”

Loki buried his face into Thor’s shoulder, breathing in the smell that was so distinctly _Thor_ it reminded him of all the centuries shared between them.

“All right, Brodinsons,” said Brunnhilde. Loki had forgotten she was there again. “Let me get some of that.” She squished them together, weaving herself between them somehow. “This is a group hug.”

They both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony answered the phone on the second ring. _“Hey, kid.”_ Peter could hear something whirred in the background—a saw probably, which meant he was working in the lab. _“What’s up?”_
> 
> “So, I went to the museum today,” said Peter, bouncing on his bed. “With Loki,” he added.
> 
>  _“Yeah?”_ Something crashed, and he could hear Tony yelling in another direction: _“That’s it, QCC is going to love you.”_ A pause. _“Well, guess what, Butterfingers, you don’t get to choose.”_ He returned to the conversation a moment later. _“Sorry about that. Museum?”_
> 
> “Yeah, I was there with Loki,” he repeated.
> 
> _“Uh-huh. And?”_
> 
> “And there was this vase thing.”
> 
> _“And?”_
> 
> “We might want to get Doctor Strange on this.”
> 
>  _“Why?”_ asked Tony. _“What’s wrong with the vase?”_
> 
> “It might have, like, evil spirits or something in it,” Peter explained, looking around the room for something to do. He picked up his web-shooters on the desk, then put them down again. He never knew what he was supposed to do with his hands when he was on a phone call. “That’s what Loki said.”
> 
>  _“Spirits,”_ Tony echoed skeptically. _“Instead of, you know—”_
> 
> “Flowers?” Peter cut in, smiling widely to himself.
> 
>  _“Huh,”_ said Tony, amused. _“Yeah, Strange can deal with that.”_


	5. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Museum Part Two: The Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting. I'm just going to drop this here and run.
> 
> Special thanks to [salparadiselost](https://www.tumblr.com/search/salparadiselost), to whom I am eternally grateful for betaing.

_"Nobody mess with my familia"_

_-Nicki Minaj & Anuel AA "Familia" _

* * *

_Nine_

_“All of this—”_ Peter’s head turned between the crates of various artifacts currently sitting in the Met Museum’s storage room floor “—is dangerous?” He was zipping around, obviously tempted to touch some of the objects, but holding himself back.

“It can’t all be dangerous, right Mr. Loki? See, this one is just a _painting.”_

Loki stifled a chuckle, turning around. He put a hand on his hip and glanced at the painting that Peter was pointing out. The painting itself seemed rather ordinary, however, some of its depictions were not as such, containing subtly engraved runes along the edges to ward off witches. Of course—apart from Strange’s organization—Midgard was devoid of magic-users, so the runes had no power behind them; utterly useless. Though, with Midgard’s advancing sciences, and a number of individuals such as Doom and Wanda who could use magic, there was no longer a guarantee that they would remain harmless, which meant the paintings had to be removed from the displays.

Strange sighed deeply, clearly annoyed at something.

He had been acting like that all afternoon, and Loki was very nearly about to snap at him for it. He didn’t know why he was even here to begin with. Stark had offhandedly mentioned something about Strange lending his ‘expertise’ (an “expertise” that Loki had yet to see), but he imagined that Strange’s presence was more supervision for the operation, as he had yet to contribute any useful information or suggestions. For the Norns’ sake, the wizard had practically just been sulking in a corner and whining about the “legality of art theft” for the last three hours. 

Loki considered himself a patient man (you had to be to grow up with Thor of all people) but he was just about at his limit with the sorcerer wannabe. 

Instead, he turned to Peter—helpful and not-sulking Peter—who was looking at him eagerly from behind his Spider-man mask. “Yes, it’s ‘just a painting’. But those—” he pointed to a pattern near the edge of the frame on the left “—are spells that break the barriers between dimensions. Believe me, it’s for the best that it’s off the display.”

Peter motioned at the other crates, the automatic lenses of the Spider-man mask widening almost comically. “And all the rest of this?”

Loki nodded as he looked out at the operation going on around them. Workers carefully loaded crates into the trailers of semi-trucks. Three of them. One would be delivering a small collection of items to Strange’s Sanctum, and the other two would be delivering the rest of the less dangerous artifacts to the Avengers Compound upstate for permanent storage. Though of course, there were several things that Loki would be taking back to New Asgard, because he neither trusted the Avengers nor Strange to handle them properly or because they technically still belonged to him. Loki could see the reason for Peter’s alarm, however. As it turned out, the Avengers were taking a sizable fraction of the museum’s inventory. 

“Yes, all of these are what I would consider beyond suitable for pedestrian handling. Enchanted or otherwise,” answered Loki, smoothing down the cuffs of his suit. Thor had made fun of it, calling it his “witch attire”, but Loki knew the power of being the best dressed in the room. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back casually on his heels. Pockets were a wondrous invention and Asgard had been rather behind on the development of the more practical functions of clothing.

 _“‘Or otherwise’?”_ Peter squawked, looking at every piece of art with renewed and obvious suspicion. 

Loki nodded his head in the direction of a covered statue “For example, if that comes into contact with water, it can transform into a… you would call it a ‘siren’. I've encountered a few of those before. To call them unpleasant would be putting it lightly,” he said mildly.

Peter, though, backed away from the statue as if being near it would burn him. “I would have never thought that a museum would have so many dangerous things.”

“Between this museum and another in London, I’ve found no less than seven Sling Rings,” said Strange, finally electing to come and talk with them. He had been quite dismayed to discover that the members of his organization had been so careless with their little trinkets. So dismayed that he just had to whine about it to Loki for a better part of the last hour.

“And Vanir jewels that can channel seiðr,” Loki added. He had a theory about those; perhaps that was how Doom had managed to combine his technology with magic. It did not seem likely, but remained a possibility, nonetheless.

“Don’t forget all the coins inscribed with runes of varying levels of danger.”

“And the amulet that can simulate falling through the Void.” Loki suppressed a shiver at his mention of that one. He had destroyed it, then scattered the pieces in the lava fields of Muspelheim. One might say that it was overkill; Loki, though, thought that it was the right amount of “kill”. 

“And the armour that can turn the wearer to stone.”

“Or the books that _humans_ ,” he shot Strange a vain look, and got a small pulse of joy when Strange’s face twisted at the word, “would never be able to translate.” Those books had been a particularly lucky find on his part, and he had been thrilled to uncover new texts. Perhaps he’d taken a few books, so what? It’s not as if they would be missed if they could not be read and Loki was never one to let a perfectly good book go to waste.

“And the—”

“Okay,” Peter cut them off before they started listing everything they had found so far, which Loki thought wise; it would take days for them to get through that list. “I get it. Stuff’s dangerous. So, why are we taking it by truck? Wouldn’t it be safer to use one of those portal things?”

Strange shook his head. “There would be interference.”

“Interference?”

Loki nodded, confirming the Doctor’s statement. It was nice sometimes to be able to talk about magic with someone other than the amateur. Explaining the basics of magical theory to Stark for the 67th time got quite tiring, especially when he dismissed it as “Nordic magic voodoo”.

Peter still looked between them with furrowed eyebrows. He caught Loki’s eyes, a question obvious in his gaze, and the god decided to save him his wondering. “In your human physics, matter interferes with matter, and energy interferes with energy. This is a fairly universal concept as it turns out, and, like so, magic interferes with magic. Because of that, if any of the artifacts have a similar magic signature, it could lead to disastrous results.”

“It would take months to sort through all of this to determine what is dangerous and what could be transported through a portal safely,” Stephen finished.

Loki huffed. The doctor had whined particularly when Loki suggested that they did some signature tracing. He insisted that it would take too long, which is why they were now engaged in the hours-long operation of moving things manually. An operation that the god severely doubted was actually saving them any time.

Peter nodded. “Makes sense.”

Thor came up to them, Stormbreaker—disguised as an umbrella—swinging around recklessly in his grip. 

Loki groaned and put a rubbed at his forehead with a single hand. How many times had he lectured his brother about careful handling of all-powerful, god-slaying weapons? Did he not realize that one wrong move could easily shatter someone’s kneecap? Just because the axe’s shape had been altered did not mean its strength had been.

Loki opened his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut when he realized what his brother was wearing. The King of Asgard strolled into the warehouse dressed in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. The jacket was unzipped and it revealed a t-shirt depicting a cartoon version of Thor tossing a small Loki in a parody of “Get Help”. The word “yeet” was emblazoned in large capital letters within a spiky action comic bubble.

Loki was caught between fury, a traitorous laugh and shock about how Thor could even acquire such a shirt. He settled on giving Thor a deeply annoyed scowl. His brother only looked at him with complete innocence as if he couldn’t imagine what could possibly be bothering Loki. 

In the background, Peter gave a hacking sound between a cough and a laugh. Loki whipped around and the boy looked suspiciously at the ground. So _that’s_ where Thor got the shirt from.

Loki didn’t know what was worse, that Thor thought it was appropriate to represent New Asgard in a hoodie and sweatpants or that he had somehow roped Peter into his outfit schemes.

Thor cleared his throat, getting Loki’s attention. He still looked far too happy with himself. “The truck going to your Sanctum is nearly loaded,” he said. “I can escort it to its destination.”

Peter perked up and gave a little confused tilt of the head. “I thought that was my job.”

“Yes,” Stephen agreed, floating towards them with a pretentious swoop of his cape, “but from the outside.”

“And I’ll be guarding the items from the inside just in case,” Thor added, hefting the umbrella on one of his large shoulders.

Loki smirked, seeing his opportunity. “Spider,” he said, “we’ve placed you on the outside because you’re much more likely to _notice_ any threats outside. My brother, on the other hand, can only notice things that are directly in front of him.”

Thor lightly punched him in the arm. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

Everyone ignored him. No one was defending the King of Asgard in this battle.

“There is no need to worry,” Loki said mildly. “Although his perception is always lacking, I have never doubted my brother’s ability to punch his way out of any given situation.”

Thor delivered another, slightly weightier, punch to Loki’s arm with an indignant, “Hey.”

“Case in point.”

Thor blinked, wheels slowly turning, before giving a hearty laugh and slapping Loki on the shoulder once more. The force of the thumps nearly sent Loki stumbling, and he briefly wondered if Thor was trying to dislocate his arm with all this “brotherly love”.

“Ahem,” said Strange while rolling his eyes at them, “if you two are quite finished with your… bonding, I would like to continue with our task.” 

“Might be awhile,” Thor replied, still chuckling. He gestured to the crates scattered around. They had been loading them for hours now, and it seemed like they had hardly made a dent. “At least, that is what the museum’s curator told me.”

Dr. Strange hummed, weighing options in his head. “We might as well begin the transport as the other trucks are being loaded. Thor and Spider-man, you can escort the first shipment to the Sanctum. Wanda can take over once it gets there.”

“Sure thing, Doctor,” Peter agreed, giving a mock salute, and darting off towards the truck. Thor followed him shortly after.

“So…” Strange drawled, turning towards Loki. His sentient cloak danced around his legs without the faintest hint of a breeze. Not for the first time, Loki wondered why the sorcerer brought the Cloak of Levitation with him everywhere he went. In the coldest days of December, it could simply be for warmth. Loki, however, believed that it was mostly out of pretension. It was a status symbol to keep a magical object on one’s person, and Loki didn’t miss Stephen’s smirks when people eyed it. Yet again, Loki questioned why Tony gave _him_ the “drama queen” label when compared to Dr. Strange and Tony himself. “One of the curators told me that they seem to have misplaced a few books.”

“How unfortunate,” Loki said with blatantly false concern. He looked out at Peter and Thor preparing the truck, refusing to meet Strange’s eyes. “I do hope they recover them.”

“Right. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Maybe.”

“And a model boat went missing from the British Museum in London.”

Loki sighed. Of course, he found out about that. Though, he guessed it would be foolish for him to think that Strange wouldn’t notice the boat’s disappearance and the purely coincidental appearance of a very-similar-but-totally-not-related ship in the New Asgard port. “Technically, I only _reclaimed_ that. Skiðblaðnir belongs to me.”

“It belongs to the museum.”

“Not anymore,” Loki said blandly while inspecting his nails.

The Midgardian sorcerer inhaled sharply and crossed his arms. Riling up this wizard was almost as much fun as goading Stark. “And where’s the amulet from the Hermitage museum that was recently discovered to be fake? Where’s the _real_ one?”

Ah. He was talking about the Void Amulet. “Gone.” His tone suddenly colder. He had taken no small pleasure in destroying that wretched thing, and the universe would be all the better for it.

“Goodbye, Mr. Loki! Goodbye, Doctor Strange!” Peter’s bright voice shook Loki out of his dark thoughts. The boy was sitting on top of the truck and waving furiously. The trickster couldn’t help a small laugh and raised a hand in farewell. The boy’s smile widened until he yelped as the truck started to pull away. Within a couple of moments, they were gone, disappearing into New York’s streets.

Once they were gone, Strange immediately turned on him again. “Stealing from museums is really _not_ legal, you know.”

Loki shrugged, fiddling with a ring on his finger. It was his signet ring, one of the few things remaining from the gilded halls of Asgard, and both him and Thor had one bearing their royal symbols. Though, Loki pondered, he would have to get a new set commissioned now that Thor was King, and he was the Crown Prince. “You will find, Doctor,” he looked at Strange from the corner of his eyes, “that a prince of Asgard rarely does follow human rules.” 

Strange was growing angrier and angrier by the minute, his face slowly reddening. At this rate, he was going to become the colour of his floating cape. 

“Yes, and you never do hesitate to remind us about how far you’re _lowering_ yourself. Such a gracious god, humbling himself to the company of humans.” He spat, his clothes flicking around him. His golden magic was beginning to spark on his hands. 

Internally, Loki flinched but would be damned if he let the Doctor see it. 

Loki knew he was breaking his own rules by allowing himself to become close with mortals again. He had thought he had hardened his heart against it, built walls to keep himself from loving too closely. Humans were like sparks, bright but fleeting and full of potential. With the right resources, they could use their meagre lifespans to create wonders. 

As a god of both chaos and change, Loki couldn’t help but be taken with them. Even though he knew the heartbreak that his affection would cause him. Even though he knew the destruction his love often brought to others. Sentimentality was a dangerous thing for both him and the people close to him, the past had proven that many times over. And yet, he was too selfish and too much of a coward to keep himself from loving. 

He had promised himself he wouldn’t make any bonds. His love was too dangerous and the risk of hurt was too great. 

But he was also a liar, a liar to others, but to himself most of all. He was growing closer to others and as those bonds formed, the promises with himself broke. Bonds between Thor, between the Spider-child, between the other Avengers. At least, Thor had the same lifespan as him. As for the humans… he had felt that hurt before and just thinking about having to outlive this group of humans by centuries—by _millennia_ —was not something he enjoyed, to put it lightly. 

The doctor still bristled next to him and Loki smirked instead of letting the wizard know how much his words had bitten. “Now you are understanding, sorcerer. It’s a foolish promise for a god to befriend a mortal, and yet we keep falling for the same trick.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It is destined for pain on both sides. I know this more than most, and yet I keep believing the same lie.”

The sound of Loki’s phone vibrating cut him off. A text message. Cell phones, Loki discovered, were rather clever inventions of the mortals, allowing them to communicate over long distances instantaneously, which proved quite useful considering their dreadfully short lifespans. Loki did not allow his mind to linger on that thought. Now that he had friends among the humans…

Loki pulled the phone out of his pocket and unlocked it with a little strand of seiðr. Stark, who had been studying magic for months now, finally found a way to incorporate it into his technology in a way that was far less crude than Doom’s methods. The supervillain’s bots were awful contraptions that were imbued with magic (Loki had learned after a careful study of the things), giving them the ability to move and perform commands. Unfortunately, this technique wasted so much seiðr because the Doombots were not _natural,_ meaning they could not conduct magic well, and lost a great deal of it in their operations. _Wasteful._

Stark, on the other hand, had managed to develop technology that simply _responded_ to seiðr, which Loki found much more acceptable.

He glanced down at the message from Peter:

_Shipment attacked. Need backup._

* * *

“Sure thing, Doctor,” Peter agreed, mockingly saluting the wizard, and practically _felt_ Loki’s eye-roll as he darted towards the truck, grateful to be rid of the lingering scent of stale air.

Peter had always compared the New York winter weather to a gigantic freezer, but that wasn’t quite accurate. Freezers did not have _wind,_ and the biting cold winds of New York’s winters were something to behold. There was also the ice issue, which caused monumental problems for cars, yes, but even larger problems for _Spider-man._ Spider-man, contrary to popular belief, could not stick to ice if he tried. And Peter did try. 

Peter’s experiments with ice had ended with many bruises and hurt pride, but he did gain some knowledge in dealing with it. Peter could deal with the slipperiness, but the problem was that the ice turned to liquid when it melted under his fingertips, and he could not stick to liquid. His webs, however, did not have this issue, so Peter preferred swinging over sticking if he had the option.

Sticking to ice, though, did nothing about the actual chill. The cold was awful, and Peter had—more than once, he had to admit—used up too much of the suit’s battery on the heating systems, which prompted him to figure out a way to make it last longer. Not that battery life often caused problems, but the heater, according to Mr. Stark, was not designed to be on for six to seven hours at a time.

All of this made him naturally a little envious towards the two magic users behind him, one of which could get away with wearing a comically thick, sentient cloak, and the other never seemed to get cold in the first place. Spider-man couldn’t wear an enormous cloak because one, he didn’t have one (that would be so cool, though), and two, because it wouldn’t match his look (and half of the superhero life was the look—according to Loki, at least). Maybe he could steal a cape from Mr. Thor though; Peter was sure Loki would help him if he asked.

Peter gracefully swung himself onto the rooftop of a nearby building, and waited for the truck to leave the loading area. A few seconds later, he heard the low rumbling of an engine, and saw the forty-foot truck lazily make a right turn out of the driveway.

The police had cleared the route earlier, which had caused a mess of traffic for everyone in the area, but it made it easy for the truck, which would be able to half the travel time.

The truck and its entourage drove for five minutes down the street in total peace—no pedestrians, no traffic lights, no cars—only surrounded by one police car on each side. Peter kept close, swinging above them at a slow, steady pace.

They had just passed 45th Street when his spider-sense flared.

Peter’s head shot up.

_Danger._

Peter’s heart rate sped up, as he desperately searched for what the danger could be. He was just about to yell to Thor, but never got the chance.

Something soundlessly exploded under the truck’s rear end, and the back of the trailer _flipped,_ spinning the truck 180 degrees through the air like it weighed nothing. The police car behind stopped abruptly, tires screeching. The one in front was crushed by the trailer with a loud _bang_ , everything in the trunk getting crushed beneath the weight like it was made of paper.

Peter’s ears rang.

There were two people in the cab of the truck, most likely injured. He had to get them out fast and then deal with the magic stuff in the trailer.

_Crap._

“Karen!” Peter called, swinging in from the side and turning his fall into a somersault to soften the landing. “Call Stephen and Loki.” He ran to the side of the cab. “And Mr. Stark!” he added just for good measure. The last time he hadn’t called… that had not ended well for anyone involved.

Police officers flooded out of their vehicles, guns raised and ready for the threat. The scene became a whirlwind of voices and yells as everyone tried to figure out what was happening. Peter couldn’t pay attention to that right now though, he had people who needed him.

The door of the truck swung open easily. The driver coughed roughly into his hand, and looked around frantically. Thank goodness he had been wearing a seatbelt; otherwise, the guy would be toast right about now.

Peter reached across him for the release button, and found it after only a second, lowering the driver gently onto his back before pulling him out. One of the police officers started dragging him back. He did the same with the other driver, and another two officers took him too.

“Karen, what was that?”

 _“There are no remnants of explosive materials anywhere in the vicinity,”_ came the answer. _“The blast was entirely sonic.”_

* * *

Loki had known that today had been too perfect so far. He didn’t know why he was surprised anymore, he was a god of chaos after all. The job partly entailed that chaos followed in his wake.

 _“Shipment attacked. Need backup”._ By the Norns, why hadn’t the boy given him more information than that? When Peter was back, Loki needed to have a long conversation about relaying tactical information.

Loki pulled up Peter’s location on the phone, relieved to see Peter’s dot wasn’t too far away. “The truck has been attacked. We need to go.” He waited for Strange to gather his magic (it only took a second or two, but they were _long_ seconds), then teleported to the location—only a couple of city blocks from the museum.

They had not been driving long, Loki noted with some measure of annoyance. _He leaves Thor and Peter for five damn minutes…_

The teleportation spell finished, and Loki took some small amount of satisfaction that he arrived a split second before the Midgardian sorcerer. But before he could quip at the wizard, he saw the damage and the words fell dead on his tongue.

The truck lay upside down. The police car that meant to lead the entourage was half crushed by the trailer, which had clearly flipped over the cab and landed on it. Police and military personnel rushed about, pulling the stunned drivers from their seats, and securing a steady perimeter. Though, that begged the question: where were the attackers?

And, more importantly, where was Thor? Why wasn’t his brother parading around, swinging his stupidly large axe and trying to be the hero yet again? Loki fought down the panic that was beginning to rise in his throat. He must have still been inside the trailer, which meant… And Aesir could survive a fair bit of what the mortals called ‘blunt force trauma’, but even they had their limits. If Thor had been inside that when it flipped… And with the various magical artifacts in the trailer, there was a non-zero chance that he’d been injured. Possibly severely.

Loki forced himself to walk calmly around the back of the truck, refusing to allow his unfounded alarm to get the best of him. Strange could confer with the police, he had more pressing matters to attend to. He turned the corner and immediately recognized the bright red and blue of the Spider-man suit right in front of him. “Spider. Are you injured?”

“What? No.” Peter shook his head rapidly, still slightly out of breath. “The truck flipped.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged with a tilt of his head. “I’d gathered. Where’s Thor?”

“Still inside.”

“And he has not yet emerged?”

“Not yet. Will he be okay?”

“Most likely. If not, I’ll murder him.” Loki said with a dangerous smirk, that belied furious and dark worry that rolled in the pit of his stomach.

“That seems counter-intuitive,” Peter mumbled.

Loki turned toward the door of the trailer, and quickly scanned for harmful magic within. He found nothing of that sort, but did notice a different kind of energy. _Fire._ He opened the door telekinetically, realizing a few seconds beforehand that the metal handle of the door would conduct the heat from within.

Thick plumes of smoke tumbled out of the opening along with a wave of hot air, and a coughing Thor, who was already halfway to the ground with his hands pressed to his chest like their placement would help him breathe more easily.

He was heavily favouring his left leg, and a layer of smoke covered his face. A thin trail of blood ran down the left side of his forehead, narrowly avoiding his good eye. Loki rushed forward as Thor's legs finally gave out, barely catching him as he fell. Peter came up and helped guide Thor over a few metres to the shadow of a building, so he could rest against the wall.

Loki knelt beside his brother and started scanning for injuries, both with seiðr and with his eyes. Thor’s arms had been badly burned, and his left leg sported a long deep gash. Looking at the way his eye fruitlessly attempted to focus, Loki assumed he had a head injury as well.

“You idiot,” Loki whispered, mentally recounting all he knew of healing magic. He knew the basics, enough to do field dressings during battle, and to heal minor injuries, but this… there were too many variables. The fire: was it a naturally caused fire, or the result of one of the enchanted items in the trailer at the time of the crash? If it was the former, Loki could probably have healed that in his sleep, but the latter would require him knowing the effects of using magic to combat it. The same applied to the gash, and—as for head injuries—Loki had not had enough experience with those to confidently treat his brother. “I leave you alone for _five minutes—”_

“How is this—” Thor coughed—a harsh choking sound that made Loki’s heart skip a beat; he had to get the smoke out “—my fault?”

“I’m sure we’ll figure that out eventually. Lie still.” Good, good, this was fine. Loki could deal with this.

He reached deeper with his magic, looking for any source of a curse or spell mingled with the fire, but found none, then went about the slow process of healing. Behind him, Loki was briefly aware of Strange putting out the fire, then continuing to talk to the police. Peter hovered around anxiously, pacing between the trailer and the building without anything to do.

“Can I help?”

Loki shook his head. “It will only take a moment longer. Do the police need assistance in securing the perimeter?”

“Maybe,” Peter said, then ran off to Strange’s side.

Loki refocused his attention on Thor. “I have to get the smoke out of your lungs.” Realistically, the smoke inhalation would not prove to be fatal, but best get it out sooner rather than later.

“Uh-huh.” He coughed again as if to prove his point.

“It may not be pleasant,” Loki warned.

Thor just nodded with a grimace in acknowledgement, they both knew Loki’s brutal healing and often callous bedside manner, neither of them were particularly pleasant. Loki placed a hand on his chest to start withdrawing the smoke, murmuring the words to the spell under his breath. Thor coughed out the smoke in small black puffs until Loki was satisfied that the majority of it had been expelled.

Then—because he was an idiot who didn’t know when or how to take it easy—his fool of a brother tried to get up, which failed—half because his leg gave out, and half because Loki’s hand on his chest forced him to stay seated. Still, Thor heavily blinked a few times as if to clear spots from his vision. _Dizziness. Head injury._

“Where in the Seven _Hels_ do you think you’re going?” Loki asked rhetorically, shooting a scathing glare at him. “Lie down, Thor. You have a head injury.”

Thor sighed exasperatedly but didn’t make any further attempts to stand. “Can’t you heal that too?”

“No.” Flesh wounds were simple; reconnecting tissue was essentially a form of telekinesis or molecular manipulation, both rather simple constructs of seiðr. Healing head injuries, on the other hand, was not. One wrong move and the brain chemistry could be permanently altered—too exact for any one person to attempt alone. “It’s not that simple. Don’t move.”

Thor’s eyes drifted to just over Loki’s shoulder.

Loki whirled, familiar with his brother’s body language over the course of centuries to know that Thor was trying to warn him of something. He noticed what immediately. _Doombots._ Three of them. But how, _by the Nine,_ had the Doombots managed to attack the truck considering that Doom himself was busy wasting away _in prison,_ and Loki had laid waste to the facility in which the bots were built? Loki did not have time to process the information and begin an attack before, out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother outstretch a hand, and noticed the strong scent of ozone in the air.

_Oh, the idiot…_

To use magic with a head injury was to attempt to manipulate volatile energies without having the proper control to shield oneself from any turbulence that came with them. Loki had seen this before. Hel, Loki had _done this_ before, and suffered the consequences for weeks after. He had also provided ample warning to his brother about what could happen—warnings that he had, obviously, not taken to heart.

The shade momentarily disappeared as lightning illuminated the surrounding area, wildly striking the cars, the pavement, _Loki,_ who only barely managed to shield himself in time from the electricity.

_Volatile._

_Turbulent._

_Uncontrollable._

Two of the Doombots were reduced to molecules instantaneously. The other glitched with blue energy before falling to the ground in a pile of scraps.

Beside him, Thor limply fell back against the building.

Damn it.

The police leapt to their feet around them, no doubt searching for the rest of the Doombots because the villain could not be foolish enough to send but _three_ of his bots against them. Loki, however, paid them no attention, focusing on his _senseless, idiotic_ brother, who had no regard for his personal health or safety.

Loki checked his wrist for a pulse, and found one, though it felt weak.

_Still alive_

Healing physical wounds was one thing, healing wounds of a magical nature… that was something else entirely—something that Loki had no experience in dealing with, simply because _any_ magic-user knew not to attempt casting with a head injury. That was just _common sense_ —sense that, evidently, Thor severely lacked (but Loki already knew that).

And that was not even the worst part.

The worst part was that Loki did not know what to do. All of his reading and studying and countless hours in the library amounted to nothing if he could not do this. Healing magic had never been his forte. By the Norns, why hadn’t he paid more attention to his mother’s teachings of it? How could he have been so stupid? How couldn’t he have seen that one day he would need it?

Loki had barely been holding it together. He had been fighting the panic and guilt and shoving it down where no one could see it. But seeing Thor get so close to death in a stupidly idiotic act of heroism caused that thin control to snap. 

And when Loki’s control tore, it ripped cold and violent like a blizzard.

His eyes flashed with magic, and he felt his seiðr roll out of him in impending waves. The air immediately around him became frosted and ice crackled at his feet. The policemen who had been standing relatively close to him all scattered, no one daring to approach.

Good, let them fear him. They were the ones that let Thor get hurt in the first place.

His hands were shaking, and he tried to figure out where he should place them. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed to do _something._ He needed to try, but should he fail… 

_Kinslayer._ The word rang in his head, and he felt the phantom blood on his hands. Blood so much blood, hands getting bloodier even though they were already soaked in it and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His mistakes always left his hands redder, no matter how much he fought. He couldn’t fight against fate. _You were always destined to let your brother die._

He was filled with panic, yet hollow at the same time. A deep, discomfiting feeling settled into him—distrust in his own abilities.

“Loki.”

His own name startled him, and he whirled around, magic pulsing on his palms and teeth bared like a snarling wolf. An enemy, his mind supplied and memories of battles flashed through his head. All his life he had been trained to be battle-ready and instinctively all thoughts were overcome by the need to protect his own. Thor was hurt on the ground behind him and Loki was damn sure that he wasn’t going to let anyone harm him. He was about to lash out, his magic practically singing around him for the opportunity to strike, when he realized who was standing in front of him.

_Strange._

The doctor was taking a hesitant step back, his hands rising. Loki didn’t know whether it was to declare innocence or to cast a spell. He didn’t dare take any chances, though, and called his magic forth. It swirled about him in menacing green, cloaking both him and Thor and staining the ground below him. He glared at the sorcerer, gathering promises of danger in his eyes.

“Loki,” the sorcerer tried again, but Loki could detect the hint of fear in his voice, “I am not here to harm you or your brother.”

 _Lies,_ his mind hissed at him. Could they be? This wizard was far below him, but in the state that Thor was in he could prove to be a real risk. If he caught Loki off guard… A shiver ran down his back as he thought of the glowing portal and the falling, falling, falling...

He shook himself out of those thoughts, there was no time for his own weakness. Loki wouldn’t be able to divide his magics between the sorcerer and Thor if this came down to a fight. The best option was to keep him away. Keep him far, far away so that Loki could take Thor to someplace safe and hope that his own meagre healing could keep him alive.

While he tried to figure out how he could possibly worldwalk with Thor so wounded, the sorcerer chanced another step forward. Panic shot through Loki like ice through the veins, and his magic lashed out, cracking all the pavement between him and the sorcerer's feet. He growled, unable to make words as the thoughts frantically moved through his head.

The sorcerer fought to look unruffled by the attack, and instead took another step towards them. Loki flinched, his magic rising again. “I can help him.” The wizard spoke again: “I’ve done this before, just please let me help.” As much as Loki did not trust himself to fix this, he trusted the amateur sorcerer even less.

He prepared for another burst of magic, but right before he let it loose, a movement from Strange’s right side caught his attention. 

Peter was walking to them, his chin held high. He had tugged off the Spider-man mask, and he was meeting Loki’s eyes. It was a brave face, but Loki didn’t miss the slight wobble in his lip. Peter strode right past Dr. Strange, ignoring the man’s yelp of warning and Loki’s dangerously swirling magic.

Loki frantically pulled up his seiðr, keeping it from hurting Peter as he approached. His eyes flickered warily between the boy and the sorcerer behind him. “Peter,” he said, his voice coming out shakier than he expected, “Stay back. It’s not safe.”

Peter, that daft boy, didn’t list and practically crashed to his knees in front of Loki. His eyes were glassy and the trembling in his lip was much more obvious up close. “No, Mr. Loki, I can’t stay away. I wanna help you.”

Loki’s breath caught in his lungs. He knew how he must look—wild, frightened, and frantically unhinged, more like a caught animal than a crown prince. But here was this boy, seemingly unafraid and only reaching out to help.

“Doctor Strange says that he can help. He knows what’s wrong, and he can help Thor. Please, Loki, let us help you.” Peter whispered, his eyes going behind him to Thor.

Loki turned his head to glance at his brother. His breathing came out in uneven puffs and the smears of ash and grim littered his skin. He looked so much smaller and wrongly fragile. Thor groaned shifting uncomfortably, and the sound nearly made Loki flinch. Thor’s shirt was becoming dark with blood, and the cartoon “Get Help” seemed to mock him. 

_Get help? How could he trust anyone to help him?_ His eyes flicked back to the sorcerer, who was still looming over Peter’s shoulder. Strange had never been his friend. Every time they talked it was full of pleasantries to cover their disdain for each other. “The sorcerer,” he whispered, drawing Peter’s attention to him.

Dr. Strange came closer as he was addressed. He straightened his spine, his cape fluttering around him. “I know how to help him. The apprentices go through this all the time. Will you let me help?”

The boy didn't give the doctor so much of a glance. “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt Thor. I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

He hesitated. He trusted the boy. He trusted him more than he knew he should, more than he had ever thought he would trust a human. He trusted Peter to the ends of all Nine Realms. 

But this was Thor… the only family he had left. 

He wasn’t sure, he even trusted himself with this.

Peter was looking at him so earnestly, his gaze not wavering. He was so trusting. Even when Loki was so broken. 

Finally, he sighed, drawing his seiðr completely to himself. “Alright,” he said softly to Peter. Then, he glared icily over Peter’s shoulder at the sorcerer, “And if you so much as scratch my brother, I will tear you limb from limb.”

That was all the confirmation the doctor needed, and he rushed to Thor’s side. He observed Thor with a clinical glance, occasionally shifting the position of his brother’s head and humming to himself.

How could he be so _calm?_ He claimed to have done this before. How often? Did he know of the differences between the seiðr of humans and the Aesir?

Loki realized, with a sick sense of dread, that none of his doubts mattered if he could not answer one question:

_Is there an alternative?_

No.

There was not.

The options were to trust the amateur, or risk Thor dying, and the latter was _not_ an option.

Loki nodded and leaned back an inch to give the human some room. Sparking orange magic burst from the sorcerer’s hands as he wove his spells, and Loki had to resist the urge to comment on how inefficiently they used their energy. Beside him, Peter shifted and pressed against his side, silently giving him support. He had never been more grateful for Peter’s uninhibited giving of affection. Strange raised one hand to hover just in front of Thor’s forehead, and less than one second later, his brother shakily inhaled.

Loki let the tension bleed out of him slowly, forcing himself to breathe after unwittingly not doing so for some time; he didn’t know how long.

Strange lowered his hand. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

Loki shook his head. “No.” The average Midgardian hospital would not be able to help him. They would neither have the right equipment nor the knowledge of Aesir biology. New Asgard would, but being on the other side of the planet… Technically, Loki could worldwalk there, but the mingling magic would interfere, and there was a chance that they would do so negatively. “Stark Medical,” he decided. It was close, within the city, and they had treated his brother in the past well enough that Loki trusted them with his care.

They needed to get there _now,_ but… _damn it._ Worldwalking could cause adverse effects; it messed with the mind like that. Dragging one’s self through Yggdrasil’s branches was a dangerous and risky affair. Strange’s portals, on the other hand, might not, considering that they were rather simple workings that tore tiny rips into the fabric of reality then sewed them together again. They might be safe.

Without a better option, Loki asked: “Will the magic of your portals interfere?”

Strange shook his head. “It’ll be fine.” The Cloak of Levitation unclasped itself from the man’s shoulders, and wrapped itself around Thor despite Strange not saying a word of instruction (was there a telepathic connection between the two?). The Midgardian made a circling motion with his hand, and Loki felt the foreign magic create a small tear in reality.

With Thor floating gently beside him, Loki stepped through the portal.

* * *

The door that Peter had been watching for the better part of an hour quietly clicked open to reveal Loki. Peter stood up at the same time as Tony, who’d been lounging beside him, reading Pym’s new theorem. The god looked like he’d just been put through the blender, exhaustion read on all his limbs, his eyes were framed by dark circles. “He will live,” he declared, then added spitefully, “despite his best efforts.”

“What happened?” Peter asked. They hadn’t been told anything by anyone, which mildly infuriated them. Okay, more than mildly infuriating considering that Thor had seemed relatively okay-ish after stumbling out of the truck, then hit a rapid decline for reasons _nobody_ was telling them.

“What did he do?” asked Tony without missing a beat.

Loki inhaled deeply, and looked between the two of them, contemplating how to explain. The trickster looked just about ready to collapse, let alone explain some complicated magical theorem. “Remember when you wanted to learn about the connection between magic and brain patterns?”

Tony nodded, and Peter tried to recall when this happened. He came up short. There were so many occasions that they had studied different aspects of magic, and no way he could remember all of them. A few stood out—most notably when Loki animated the various electronics in the lab—but one that involved brain patterns had most likely not made it on that list.

“Chemistry and magic can be very similar in multiple ways as both involve the manipulation of molecules and their various components. Magic, as you know though, is much more forceful in that manipulation often causing the molecules to change their identities. It’s a delicate process, spell casting while mentally impaired is asking for a disaster. This, of course, is what my oaf of a brother tried to do, and the chemical imbalance of the brain caused his magic to be more volatile. It doesn’t help that his elemental magic is electrical in nature, which can directly conflict with an electrical organ such as the brain.”

“Yeah—oh.” Tony rubbed at his beard. “So, he tried to do magic with a head injury, is what you’re saying.”

“Basically,” Loki sighed, running a hand through his slightly frizzy hair. For a moment, Peter was shocked. He wasn’t sure that he had ever seen the vain god this dishevelled. He had seen Loki exhausted, sure, but even in those times the prince had retained a certain amount of royal grace. This, though, was so much worse. This was a man who had thought he was about to lose the little he had left. 

Loki slumped against a wall, losing the posture that he was usually so proud of. “The younger members of Strange’s—” he gestured randomly to the ceiling, trying to decide on a word “—cult have this problem often. Between the two of us, we managed to stabilize Thor’s energies.”

Peter felt himself release a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. He didn’t realize how much weight not knowing had been putting on his shoulders, and he felt immediately lighter knowing that Thor was okay. He nodded. “Are you planning on going back to New Asgard?”

Loki closed his eyes; he looked like he was about to fall asleep any minute now. Peter’s voice startled him a bit, making him straighten his back. How much energy did healing magic take? He thought the question over for a second, then shook his head. “New Asgard has a total of _three_ healers, none of which specialize in this type of… what do you call it here?” He grit his teeth, searching for the word with a frustrated furrow in his eyebrows, “Neurology, I think.”

Peter briefly wondered how tired Loki was to be stumbling over his words like this—something he had not seen often. Or ever, really. The thought made him immediately want to hug the ragged god.

“In any case,” Loki continued with a wave of his hand. “Strange is here, and he seems to know a great deal about the study. He suggested keeping him asleep with magic until the damage to his brain is healed.”

“Wasn’t he a surgeon… before?” Peter asked, remembering a story the wizard had told him about something that happened in the hospital. He couldn’t recall exactly what it had been about, but it had seemed odd that Strange—a real-life freakin’ wizard—had extensive knowledge of hospital procedures.

“Yeah, before he met his wizard friends he was a hotshot neurosurgeon. But then he had an accident.” Tony let the silence hang for a second. Peter looked up and realized that he almost looked as tired as Loki. It wasn’t surprising seeing as they had been here for… How long _had_ they been waiting here? He couldn’t remember. 

“So. You gonna be staying here for a while?” Tony asked, drawing Loki’s attention again.

“Most likely.”

“Okay. Wanda’s at the scene with Barnes and Wilson, so they probably have it covered. Will Strange—”

“He is already there.” Loki cut him off, looking entirely _done_ with this conversation. Amazingly, Tony seemed to pick up the hint.

The nanites of the Iron Man suit started spreading over Tony’s chest as he made his way toward the balcony. “I’ll head over, then.” A cold blast of air came into the room when the glass doors opened, and Iron Man flew away down the street.

Peter shivered and got up to close the doors before turning his attention back to Loki. The poor guy looked like he had almost fallen asleep in the half-minute he wasn’t being talked at. “How are you doing?”

Loki blinked. “How am _I?”_

“Yeah. You look kinda… dead.”

“Why, you flatter me,” Loki dryly replied. “However, after having been dead or nearly so thrice now, I can assure you that a small case of magical exhaustion is nothing to contend with.”

Peter frowned and wondered what exactly ‘magical exhaustion’ entailed. It definitely didn’t sound fun, or—and he looked the god up and down again—it didn’t look fun either. The little comment though, came as a cold reminder about how close Loki had brushed with death multiple times. Loki could have easily been dead. He could have been dead years ago and Peter would have never met him, and they would have never been friends. Peter felt something close to tears well in the back of his throat. In an urge, he wrapped his arms around Loki’s torso, which made it an awkward sort of hug since his head only reached Loki’s chest.

Loki held his arms in the air very awkwardly like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a hug,” Peter answered simply, if he listened closely he could hear Loki’s heart beating in his chest. The sound made the worried knot in Peter’s chest begin to unwind and settle.

“Why?”

He shrugged lightly. “It looked like you needed one.” 

They stood there, a comfortable silence stretched between them. Then, slowly and tentatively, he felt Loki’s hand descend on his back. It was light and barely touching him, as if any more pressure would scare Peter off. 

Peter hummed in contentment. “You’re not much of a hugger, are you?”

He felt Loki’s shrug rather than saw it. “I’m quite unused to the sensation.” And didn’t that just break Peter’s heart a bit. “Thor, though, has been quite taken with surprising me with hugs these last couple months.” He added with fond annoyance.

Peter huffed a laugh. “Yeah, Thor seems like a hugger.”

“Infuriatingly so.”

For a beat, both were silent, until Peter pulled back, so he could look up at Loki’s face. 

“Thor, is going to be okay, right?” Peter tried to keep the little tremble out of his voice, but it sneaked in there, anyways. The attack on the truck had shaken him more than he realized. It had been chaos, a chaos that had hurt Thor gravely, and scared Loki so badly that he had seemed uncharacteristically frazzled by it (which was saying a lot, considering the concept of ‘chaos’ was his whole thing). Things were settled now, sure, but something dark was still keeping him on edge about the whole thing. 

The god looked down and met his eyes, then he gave Peter one of his rare, small smiles. “There is no need to worry, Spider. Thor will recover, and everything will be fine.”

When the moment felt properly over, he dropped his arms. He immediately felt more peaceful, but when he looked up he saw Loki looking somewhere between puzzled and distracted, but leaning closer to distracted. Something about this. “What is it?”

Loki shook his head, and his expression faded. “It doesn’t make any sense. Doom is in prison. How could he send his bots to attack the truck _from prison?”_

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted, frowning slightly. “And you said that you took out all the factories too, right?”

“Yes.”

“Weird. I’ll ask Tony about it later. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

* * *

For the following few days, things seemed to return to normal. Peter’s life consisted of working on a science fair assignment that he’d been given for over the break (seriously, what _monster_ of a teacher would give homework over Christmas break?), Spider-man, and dragging Loki out of the Avengers Tower to make sure he didn’t forget to eat. Once or twice, he’d even convinced the god to join him as Spider-man on a patrol, in which Peter learned 1) how to pick locks 2) how to pickpocket unsuspecting thieves, and 3) how to use misdirection to distract an opponent.

The break also gave Loki the chance to meet Peter’s friends. Well. _Friend._ Ned had come over to Avengers Tower to work on the science fair project because of the free Wi-Fi (and because it was _Avengers Tower_ ), and Loki just happened to be in the lounge doing politics paperwork. As a result, it quickly became clear that their goal to finish half of it was not going to happen.

In any case, Peter was reluctantly grateful that Tony was out, because had he been present, they probably would have made negative progress on the project (Peter didn’t know if that was possible, but this was Tony he was talking about; if there was a way, the billionaire would find it). Thankfully, he was on a superhero-related field trip to the super secret facility where Doom was imprisoned.

Introductions went smoothly enough, but Peter couldn’t tell if Ned found the situation terrifying or cool or somewhere in between. Loki fell back on his court etiquette and greeted Ned as if he was a visiting dignitary. Of course, Loki being Loki, the God of _Mischief_ , did manage to slip in one thinly veiled threat about what would happen ‘should he betray Peter’ and smirked mischievously when Ned squirmed. 

In any case, whatever tension existed in the beginning quickly dissipated as Peter and Ned tried to refocus on working on the project. Their bout of “focus” (if it could even be called that) did not last long.

“Did you really give birth to a horse?” Ned asked abruptly.

Peter took a long sip from his water bottle in a failed attempt to cover up his laugh, and ended up spilling half of it over his hoodie.

Loki looked up from his paperwork stuff, shot Peter a withering glare, then answered flatly: “No.”

“What about Hel?”

Loki sighed, looking up from his paperwork with an annoyed little crease between his eyebrows. “Her name was Hela. Older sister. She’s dead.”

Ned didn’t seem the least bit fazed at Loki’s casual responses. “What about a wolf?”

“Hela’s mount.”

“What about a _giant snake?”_

Loki paused a little at this one, trying to decipher the myth. “Giant… snake? If you are thinking of the Midgard Serpent—” Ned’s eyebrows shot up expectantly, and Loki gave him another unimpressed look, “—the answer is still no, but Jörmungandr is real.”

Then he shook his head with a snort, turning back to the dozen or so papers spread out in front of him. “By the Norns, children, how in Hel did you believe I could possibly birth a snake that could wrap around Midgard.”

Just like that, Peter’s will to stay focused evaporated along with any hope of working on the project. Giant snakes were far more interesting, and when did one ever get the chance to hear about mythology (though, maybe it was more like actual history than mythology) from its godly source? “But Jormun… Jorming… _the giant snake_ —does it live on Earth?” Peter asked, staggering through the pronunciation of the name.

Loki shot them a look from the corner of his eye, before straightening again. He shifted the papers away, apparently recognizing the conversation he was about to be dragged into. Peter knew that it was all an act to cover up Loki’s natural enthusiasm and talent for storytelling. “Not exactly. Jörmungandr used to reside on Earth. A millennium or so ago, the Allfather reallocated the serpent to a distant corner of Vanaheim.” Loki almost looked devilish before he continued: “Though, not before it bore offspring.”

Ned and Peter’s response was unanimous. “I’m sorry, _what.”_

* * *

As it turned out, the children of a gigantic snake (they were peaceful, according to Loki) were the least of their problems. Tony had returned from the prison with the news. 

First of all, Doom was not in his cell, which explained how the Doombots attacked the truck. 

Even more concerning than that, though, was that he’d obviously been freed. It was impossible for him to get out of the magical restraints on his own, which meant he’d had help from the inside. Freed by whom, nobody knew; the camera feed in his cell showed nothing as well. Fury constantly looked to be on the verge of losing a gasket over the whole thing, demanding to know how in the hell the world’s most dangerous supervillain managed to escape from right under their noses. It put all the Avengers on high alert because, as Peter recently learned, Dr. Doom had been kept on the Raft, which most considered to be impenetrable by everyone except for Steve Rogers. So, Tony hypothesized that there was a traitor within the ranks, and Loki agreed.

Second, the Avengers had quickly noted a few missing items from the truck. After the accident, they had done a complete recount of the items using Loki’s insanely good memory, but it also became clear that something was amiss. The reports had been tampered with, and one of the curators and a quarter of the loading team had completely dropped off the grid. 

According to Strange’s sorcerers, the missing items included a case of enchanted coins, an amulet that granted immunity to mind magic, and a vase that may or may not contain a spirit of some sort. They didn’t know whether the vase broke in the initial fray or if it had been targeted but that seemed to matter less now considering that the maybe-existent spirit might be freely roaming around the city. However, it could be worse; some of the things in that truck had been fully capable of taking out a city. Those had all been accounted for, thank god.

In any case, Doom’s name had been posted back at the top of the most-wanted lists of most countries on the planet, and the various world government and security groups were all racing to track him down. Loki had offered a few locations, and Strange and Tony had dutifully checked them out, but so far, they had not found a single lead. It was as if the supervillain had simply vanished without leaving so much as a magical signature in his wake.

Which was just _great._

In other, cheerier, news, the doctors all agreed that it would be safe for Thor to wake up soon, and that they expected him to be moving around again in the next couple of days. Loki refused to leave his side no matter how many times Peter tried to tempt the god with promises of bagels (he ended up taking the bagels to go more often than not). Or trying to get him to _sleep_ for more than a couple of hours at a time _._ Peter was fairly sure that Loki hadn’t slept in at least a week between managing New Asgard in his brother’s absence, and pestering the doctors with endless questions about Thor’s health.

Peter didn’t know how he did it. For all that science said, Loki should have collapsed a long time ago given how often he skipped sleep. Asgardian physical limits seemed to like Asgardian magic; they both didn’t give a damn about the laws of science. Peter wouldn’t say that he wasn’t jealous. He would give a lot of things to be able to have the ability to skip sleeping for days on end, or at least to be able to do those spells that Loki used to lessen the effects of sleep deprivation.

Speaking of sleep… 

Peter could probably use some himself. Unfortunately, sleep was not an option—so was the life of the average high school student—because he and Ned had procrastinated doing their science project until the last possible second. Their kinetic and gravitational energy project required a hypothesis, a full summary, data sheets, and the completed procedure. And he had to hand it in tomorrow. Why, _why_ did they do this? More accurately, why _didn’t_ they do this? They’d had a full _two weeks,_ and what had they done with it?

Star Wars.

The Avengers.

Ned and Peter had pooled their money to buy the latest Star Destroyer Lego set. It was awesome, and also took a full four days to complete.

Okay, so maybe he could have used his time more wisely.

Maybe he could blame it on Tony, whose high school motto was infamously: “Due today, do today.” Peter chuckled to himself as he tried to imagine explaining to his teacher that Iron Man told him to wait until the day before to do his. 

Peter ran his hands over his face, and spared a glance at his phone to check the time.

_1:06 AM._

God, he wanted to be asleep an hour ago.

Ned kept suggesting coffee as the solution to all of his problems, but Peter couldn’t stand the taste of the bitter liquid, even with piles of sugar and half a carton of cream. Iced coffee was fine, probably because of the flavourings, and the smell of coffee could be pleasant. Just not the taste.

It wouldn’t matter much if he did force himself to drink coffee; thanks to the spider-bite, caffeine had the same impact that most drugs had on him: none at all.

But no caffeine meant no energy, which meant no progress, and that was a big problem.

“How did we get here,” Peter moaned into his palms, trying to ignore the beginnings of a headache.

Ned, who had been up for just as long, looked significantly less tired than Peter felt. Probably because of the coffee. Dang, there really was evidence for coffee being a magical elixir. “We tried to do it at Avengers Tower, and hearing about _magical_ energy beats out gravitational energy any day.”

Peter just groaned in response.

“And all the Avengers were there, so… Who can honestly pass up an opportunity to practice shooting arrows with Hawkeye _and_ Black Widow?”

Ned, admittedly, had a point. They were the _Avengers_ and Clint and Natasha were _awesome._ Natasha had taught them how to correctly string a bow, and then Clint showed them how to actually shoot it. The day had ended up on the top of the Avengers Tower shooting random fruit they had found in Tony’s kitchen (Tony had not been happy about the fruit sacrifice). “Promise me we’re never going to try to do homework there again.”

“Deal,” Ned agreed instantly. “But after this, I want one of the little baby snakes that Loki was talking about.”

“Ned…” Peter sighed tiredly, “we gotta focus.”

“I know, I know. But magical shapeshifting _snakes,_ Peter. I want one.” He sounded suspiciously like Tony.

“I think Loki keeps one as a pet. I’ll ask him to bring it over next time.”

Ned pumped his fist in the air. “Yes!”

“You know, I could probably convince him to help us find a few more magical shapeshifting snakes in the wild.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

“What would you name yours?” Ned asked, and they ended up spending the next fifteen minutes debating possible names for magical snake pets until Peter remembered with a gasp of horror: _the project,_ and checked the time on his phone again.

“We got distracted again, didn’t we?” Peter asked, groaning again simply by imagining how much fun it would be to wake up tomorrow morning. Scratch that. It already _was_ morning. At the rate that they were working (considering all the many times they got distracted) they were going to be up all night.

At least Peter didn’t have to worry about waking up.

* * *

Peter found the first day back at school after the break easier than he thought it would be. He and Ned had finished their physics project at five in the morning, and decided that it would be easier to pull a full all-nighter than a kind-of all-nighter. They could have gone to sleep, but it would have been absolute misery waking up, so they didn’t.

Ned crashed at lunch, falling asleep on his arm in the cafeteria (he wasn’t the only one; nobody was without bags under their eyes for the first day back).

Peter crashed as soon as the last bell rang, amazed that he made it that long at all. Mr. Harrington was posturing near the door, posed like some fourteenth-century samurai and ushering children out of the school with dramatic hand gestures. Peter was walking through those doors when the wave of tiredness smacked him in the face like a freight train, scrambling his brain enough that he didn’t even register that that was a little odd. Then again, Mr. Harrington was always a little odd, so it really was nothing out of the ordinary.

In any case, the delayed but cataclysmic wave of exhaustion that hit him was very unlucky because he was supposed to meet Mr. Stark to work on the Spider-man suit in an hour. In all honesty, the work period would more likely turn into a napping session; Tony probably could use one too, having a five-year-old and all.

Thankfully, the teachers had been mostly merciful, and Peter only had some light physics homework due for tomorrow. Everything else could wait until he’d had at least a full week of sleep.

Peter found a seat on the fairly crowded subway, and immediately started to drift off with the calming movement and the warm embrace of his winter jacket. A light jostling of the car shook him awake, and Peter jolted his head upright, already anticipating a sore neck to go along with his headache.

He looked up at the scrolling letters that displayed the next station. He had to get off in two stops; Lady Luck was on his side. If he’d slept through it… the train would have just gone backwards with him on it, and he’d eventually get where he was going, but that would have added an extra hour to his journey at least.

The doors hissed open, and a wave of people flooded the car. Peter swore the temperature rose.

Peter struggled to stay awake until the next stop. More than once, his eyelids threatened to shut, and each time he pried them open, it became more and more difficult. He stood up eventually, giving his seat to an older woman with greying hair and large round glasses.

He made it to his stop without giving in to sleep, and took a shortcut through an alleyway to get to Avengers Tower quicker. Maybe he could nap on the couch there. Tony wouldn’t mind, Peter was pretty sure.

Peter could feel his ears freezing every second of the walk, but the receptionist at the front desk waved at him as he entered the building, and Peter took the elevator to the top middle floors where most of the labs were. Tony would probably be working in one of those, and Loki was probably hanging around the med bay area. Peter could drop by after. Or maybe…

Maybe Loki knew a spell or something for getting rid of tiredness. It would make sense; Peter had hardly seen the Asgardian sleep once in the entire time he’d been with them at the Tower. Deciding that he wouldn’t be of much use in the lab practically sleeping on his feet, Peter hit the button on the elevator for the med bay floor.

Peter’s spider-sense tingled immediately as the doors opened. It wasn’t so much a ‘dodge an incoming bullet!’ kind of feeling as it was ‘there might be a puddle in front of you’. No immediate danger, just… _potential_ danger. The potential, though, unsettled Peter.

A potential for danger usual became danger, and the air was pungent with the feeling of it. The hallway seemed normal, if stark and empty. There weren’t any sounds except for the occasional beeping of a distant medical machine. For all intents and purposes, the hospital wing was supposed to feel safe, but it _didn’t._

The artificial light seemed more glaring than it usually did. The silence was stifling, crawling down his throat and nestling into a knot of worry. The wrongness settled into Peter’s bones, making hairs on his arms stand up on end. He got the distinct feeling that he was walking into a horror movie, and he wondered if he should just do the smart thing and turn tail.

After all, he didn’t want to be the idiot who walked into the woods at night to hunt the monster by himself. That guy usually ended up dead 15 minutes into the film. 

And yet, here he was walking down the creepy hallway. All by himself. Just like the idiot who walked into the woods. 

He definitely wasn’t nervous.

When he turned the hallway corner, Peter immediately understood why it was ‘potential’ danger as soon as he saw it. The med bay looked like it had been run through by a miniature tornado; the uncomfortable wooden chairs were in splinters on the floor, and the vases and figures that made up a part of Pepper’s unique pottery collection were in pieces on the floor. One of the fluorescent hall lights was hanging by its wires and flickering eerily, casting long misshapen shadows on the wall. 

Peter gulped, feeling fear run down his spine. He clutched his hands around his backpack straps, feeling them white-knuckle. Something bad had happened. No, he corrected himself as his spider-sense grew more intense, something bad was _still_ happening. 

He walked forward, still feeling especially stupid about it. As he stepped, glass crunched under his feet, mixed with the splintered from the broken chairs. He stepped in something, and when he looked down, he realized it was a smear of blood.

Every inch of him was on high alert, and his mind was rapidly trying to figure out how he could get back-up without letting whoever was in this hallway with him know he was there. His breath was coming up short, and that sense of _wrong_ twisted and contorted in his stomach. Something was wrong, something is the air whispered ruination. Something. Something in here was _deadly._

Everything in him screamed to go back, and he almost did, but then he heard voices from the hallway around the corner. He easily placed them as Loki and Mr. Stark, but couldn’t make out the words, even though they were yelling angrily to each other about something. Nevertheless, they did soothe some of his nerves because at least it meant he wasn’t alone in here. The sense of _wrong_ didn’t leave him, but he felt a little better about ignoring it.

Peter cautiously approached and poked his head around the corner. The _wrongness_ was rolling out of the hallways in waves, and Peter knew whatever was causing that feeling was behind the door.

The room was dim, lit solely by a flickering overhead light that looked like it had nearly been smashed to pieces, and the glow Peter recognized at Loki’s seiðr. Despite the darkness, Peter could clearly see three figures.

The first person he saw was Loki, looming large over the room. His seiðr sparked around him, it’s eerie green colour giving everything an evil tint. He had switched to his battle leathers and his long cape whipped around him due to the presence of so much raw magic in a small space. Ice crackled out from beneath his feet, dropping the whole room into freezing temperatures. He had a hand out, seiðr pouring from it, almost as thick as water.

The magic was powerful, stifling, and terrifying, in a way that made Peter’s heart threaten to beat out of his chest. That feeling of _wrong,_ that terrible feeling that had been dogging Peter since he stepped foot into the medical wing—that was Loki. That was Loki when he was _pissed,_ and his seiðr poured out of him in petrifying waves.

Peter gulped, anxiety rolling in his stomach, and he cautiously took a step forward. He had felt Loki’s magic before, and it had never felt like this. It had always been something innocuous, something that Loki used to protect, to help and occasionally to entertain. Peter had never felt it sharpened, twisted into something this ruthless and deadly.

It struck Peter, like a blade to the heart, that Loki was a god. He wasn’t human. He was something else, something more ancient with more power in his blood than Peter could ever hope to handle. He had inspired myths, and shaped human history; people had gazed upon him, and feared his power.

Looking at him now, with his seiðr whipping around him and his eyes narrowed into an absolutely deadly expression, Peter could see why.

“Loki, you need to stand down.” Tony Stark’s voice cut through the tense silence that had developed in the room. His voice was firm, the same voice that he used when the Avengers were really in trouble and the jokes were put aside. He stood between Loki and someone else, clearly trying to mediate whatever situation had plunged the hospital wing into chaos. He didn’t have his full Iron Man suit, and the nanites covered the lower halves of his arms, repulsors charged and ready to deploy if things got any worse. Despite the threat of the repulsors, Peter couldn’t help that he looked helplessly small compared to Loki and the magic he was calling forth.

There was a small, choking sound and Peter finally noticed the last person in the room. One of the doctors—Peter recognized her face from his many visits to Stark Medical himself—was pinned to the wall with green magic wrapped tightly around her wrists and throat. _That’s Loki’s magic,_ he realized with a tinge of horror creeping into his mind.

Peter crept forward until he stood only a short distance away. The seiðr was pushing against him, its _wrongness_ making him want to do nothing more than turn around and run. He had to stay though. He had to know what was going on and how he could help. He wasn’t just going to leave Loki and Tony alone against whatever had brought them to this point.

Tony noticed him there first. “Peter.”

Loki turned, and Peter caught a glimpse of his expression. Loki looked wilder than Peter had ever seen him. His seiðr was lighting the angles of his face, making the sharp edges of his cheeks glow green and casting the other half into shadow. His eyes sparked menacingly, promising pain and destruction to whoever got in his way. There was blood too, stark red against his pale face. It was swiped across his cheek, as if he had tried to wipe it away and instead left a large, murderous stroke. His teeth were bared in a jagged line, something that was half caught between a smirk and a grimace. He looked deadly. He _was_ deadly.

But he was also Peter’s friend.

Peter stepped closer, close enough to touch. Loki tracked his actions silently with narrowed eyes. His mouth had dropped into a tight straight line and his expression was unreadable. “Loki, what’s going on?”

Loki didn’t say anything, but Peter could tell something had started to shift. He didn’t know how he knew, maybe it was a tiny softening in Loki’s eyes, or a small release to his muscles, but Loki was ever so slowly relenting.

After a protracted pause, Loki shifted his weight ever so slightly, and looked like he just might call his magic back.

But, then Tony’s repulsors charged up, the sound breaking the tense silence between Peter and Loki.

Immediately, the tiny bit of submission that Loki had been poised to give, was snatched away. His eyes hardened, becoming as cold as chips of ice. His seiðr flared and seemed to tighten around the doctor’s throat, making her yelp. His mouth twisted into a venomous grin that left no room for mercy.

“Stay back, Peter,” Tony warned, eyes flickering between Peter and Loki. “He’s dangerous.”

It was small, almost imperceptible, but Loki flinched. It was gone in a second, immediately replaced with his deadly facade, but Peter had known he had seen it.

“Yes, Anthony,” Loki purred, his voice smooth and terrible at the same time. “You will find that I am quite dangerous.”

Tony’s face grew darker and haunted. All at once, it struck Peter. Tony wasn’t seeing _their_ Loki—the Loki that stole his brother’s Avengers sweatshirt and regularly showed up to movie nights in Iron Man pyjama pants and would work himself to the brink of exhaustion to help the Avengers on a mission. Tony was seeing the Loki from nearly a decade ago, the broken thing that still occasionally haunted his nightmares.

“Don’t you dare,” Tony was trying to sound unshakable, but a tinge of worry crept in his voice. “You wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t what?” Loki gave an acidic laugh, and seemed to pounce upon Tony’s words. “I will tell you one truth: I wouldn’t hesitate. I will bathe this room in blood if I need to.” He paused, his smirk morphing into something tighter and more miserable. “I will be the villain if I need to.”

This was bad, and if Peter didn’t stop it, it was going to get worse. Anxiety rolled through him, and he wanted to do nothing more than back down, but instead he straightened his back.

“Hey,” he barked and Tony and Loki’s attentions immediately snapped on to him. He wanted to shudder under their intensities, but didn’t let himself.

“You two need to cut this off and tell me something. What. _Happened,”_ he hissed with more force than he knew he had.

Tony didn’t answer, his jaw set in a tense determination. Loki, though, didn’t seem to have that same hesitation.

He looked to the doctor pinned against the wall, and gave her a deadly, cold, smirk. The kind that promised all types of torture.“Miss Kozak here tried to _murder_ one of her patients,” he said with false levity.

That hadn’t been what Peter was expecting to hear.

“What?”

Loki took a step towards the doctor and the action looked like a snake preparing to strike. “She tried to _murder my brother_ while he lay helpless and asleep.”

Oh.

_Oh._

That would explain the ‘about to kill everyone’ look. Loki was protective in nature, no matter how much he denied it. Peter had seen it before. Hell, he had been on the receiving end of Loki’s protection before. And when Loki felt that someone he loved was threatened, he wouldn’t hesitate to fight tooth and nail against it.

So to have his brother attacked; yeah, that would certainly be enough to send Loki into a murderous spiral.

Another question nagged at the back of Peter’s head though. Why would Doctor Kozak try to murder Thor? Loki, as much as Peter hated to admit it, would make more sense as an assassination attempt. He was the one that the public was still wary of and, if killed, wouldn’t get the assassin backlash. If Loki died, people would probably put on airs of sadness while grumbling good riddance under their breaths. But Thor? Everyone (except maybe Doctor Doom) loved the lightning-wielding Thunder God and would seek vengeance on whoever killed him. Moreover, Loki was alone a lot more than Thor. Thor was constantly with the Avengers or with Valkyrie and Loki who doubled as his Royal Guard. Loki, though, often went on errands alone and was widely considered the easier target between the brothers (though that was mostly because his power set was largely unknown).

“I wasn’t trying to kill him, I was trying to free him.” Kozak interrupted, somewhat breathlessly. Peter hadn’t been paying attention to her, and now when he looked at her, realized that she had a large, crazed smile.

This time when Loki flinched it was obvious. The difference was startling. Loki’s body lost its angry tension and when he looked up at his face to see that the ‘death is coming’ expression had all but dissolved and been replaced by a quiet resignation. He knew. Whatever the doctor was talking about, Loki knew.

And he accepted it.

Loki took a step back as Peter took another step forward, placing himself at his friend’s side.

“Peter,” Tony warned as he still looked warily at Loki, “be careful…”

The anger rose immediately and furiously. Peter didn’t get angry often, but when he did it was bright and intense. “I don’t need to be careful. He’s not going to hurt me.” He snapped at Tony.

That seemed to take Tony aback and the billionaire blinked. He wavered, eyes flicking between Loki and Peter, before he finally relented.

“I’m sorry, you’re right, kid.” He disengaged the thrusters and instead turned on the doctor. Peter noted how Tony had said sorry to him and not Loki, but decided against bringing it up now. He was going to need to deal with that, though, and it probably wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Dr. Kozak,” Tony said, finally addressing her, “what I want to know is what the hell you thought you were doing?” He was keeping his voice light, but his tone was far from friendly.

She gave them another one of her crazy grins. “I told you already, I was trying to free Thor.”

“Free him from _what?”_ Tony snapped. He stalked closer to her. As he stepped, the nanites of his armour receded. She wasn’t that much of a threat being stuck to the wall like a bug as she was. _“Life?_ That’s not how that works, doc—”

Kozak almost looked pleased. “Finally asking the right questions,” she taunted, despite being in a horrible position to do so. She had to have some nerve playing with them while trapped in Loki’s magic. One flick of his fingers, Peter knew, would be enough to end her right there.

She laughed and the sound rang tinny against the room’s walls. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand even as that _creature”_ she spat the word with obvious disgust, “is standing right next to you.” Then, she levelled a glare at Loki, and continued: “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to free Thor from _him.”_

Peter watched Tony get it at the same time he did.

The realization almost made Peter sick. She, she…

She was trying to kill Thor to “free” him from Loki.

“That’s insane.” Peter muttered, “That’s _insane._ ” He looked up to Loki, and was horrified to see that Loki had looked more accepting than indignant. “Loki, you can’t believe her…”

“Is she wrong?” Loki’s voice was as thin as glass, and he looked unbelievably breakable. It was so different from the intimidating figure he cut before, and Peter felt his heart sink.

No, Loki couldn’t think that. He couldn’t believe this load of crap that the scientist was spitting. It wasn’t possible, not after everything that they’d been through. Loki was their friend and part of the team now. Sure, it had been rough at the start, but the Avengers had accepted him in. He had gone on missions and risked his life to protect others. They invited him over for dinner and movie nights. Heck, he was at Peter’s last birthday party and had given him an ornate dagger (which Tony promptly confiscated).

He was so important and so integral to their makeshift little family and yet…

Loki believed her.

The anger that Peter felt earlier came back full force, but this time with so much more protectiveness. He was _done._ He was done with this crazy lady laughing, and laughing and laughing, not caring who she was hurting. He was done with everyone making Loki feel bad and doubting his place in the group. He was done with people constantly trying to attack the people he loved and break apart this family.

And for what, all because of a half-baked theory that exactly _zero_ people could prove?

How did she even get in here in the first place? How did she manage to get employment through Tony’s crazy intense screening protocol? FRIDAY’s human behaviour programs? If Kozak made it in, were there others?

The anger he had been feeling shifted to worry as he realized what exactly an infiltration of Stark Industries could mean. Just the thought sent shivers down Peter’s spine because, if SI could be hacked, so could his suit. So could Karen. Someone out there could know about his alter-ego and…

Someone could hurt even more people that he loved.

His breath was catching in his chest and his heart was beating fast. A tremor ran through him, and he slowly realized that he was shaking. He gulped, trying to will it away until a cool hand rested on his shoulder, and Peter remembered to breathe. _Loki,_ who also didn’t appear to be capable of breathing deeply, but stood steadfast by him anyways.

That’s right, he needed to be strong now. He didn’t have time to be afraid.

Peter tried to get his racing thoughts in order, failing a few times before forcing them to settle. He sent his mind back to the attack that got Thor here in the first place. It would make sense if Kozak had a partner—or partners—in crime. She couldn’t be a lone actor. Someone had to be on the outside, someone who could orchestrate this plot.

But _who?_

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Who hated Loki enough to attack his family? Who would be crazy enough to act on that stupid theory that Loki was mind controlling the Avengers? That idiocy had been proven false again and again. And who could get into FRIDAY’s systems well enough to distract her from a potential threat? Anyone who’d ever even thought about hacking into the SI database knew that it was impossible.

Peter could only think of one name.

_Victor von Doom._

He ticked all the boxes. The supervillain—Peter didn’t know, but could very well guess—hated Loki because he handed him over to the authorities. Peter didn’t know where Doom stood on the mind-control theory, but he didn’t think that it was too far-fetched to assume that he believed it. Maybe he thought Loki would interfere with his own world domination plans (he wouldn’t, Peter knew, but Doom might think so). As for ability…

If there was one thing Peter had learned about magic, it was that the word ‘impossible’ usually meant different things for different people. For Loki, ‘Impossible’ meant “it might be a little difficult, but there’s probably some obscure way that nobody’s thought about for millennia”. For Doom, though, that level of ‘impossible’, was a big question mark. They knew that Doom liked to combine magic with tech though, and if anything was able to compromise Mr. Stark’s tech, it would be magic. (Tony would be pulling his hair out at magic beating his tech).

As Peter thought about it more, it made more and more sense. It was Doombots that had caused the crash that got Thor here in the first place, and Doom himself had been missing from prison for more than a week. Doom was the one with potential magic-tech and Doom was the one who hated Loki enough to attack his brother directly.

Doom planned this.

Kozak continued on her rant as Peter came to his conclusions: “You all can’t see it, under his control and pretending to be allies. Or maybe you can, but are helpless under the weight of his threats. What did he threaten you with, Stark, to give in so easily? Your wife? Your daughter? It is—”

Tony lunged at her, repulsor lighting up and aiming at her face, but he didn’t attack. _“Don’t bring them into this,”_ he snarled at her.

Kozak just smirked, somehow taking Tony’s reaction as an indication that she was right. She wasn’t, but she had already made up her own mind about this. Anything they did was just going to be proof for her half-baked theory. The doctor—if she really was a doctor—set her eyes on Peter next. “What about you, Peter? What has the god of lies forced you to do?”

Tony backed off a little to stand protectively between them.

_Peter._

She knew him. They’d never met, and she knew his name.

Did she know—

No, she couldn’t know about Spider-man. Nobody but the Avengers, May, and Ned knew about Spider-man, and none of them would tell.

It was impossible.

But she hadn’t mentioned _Spider-man;_ all she said was ‘Peter’. Maybe she didn’t know. Maybe his identity was still safe, and he hadn’t dragged his other friends into danger just because they knew him.

“We’ve been watching you for some time now,” Kozak went on, and Peter’s blood froze, killing that little hope that had lit inside him. She’d been watching him. She’d been _watching him._ Did she know? Was she watching Ned? May? Were they in danger? Peter’s thoughts ran at a thousand miles per minute, only interrupted when the doctor—maybe doctor—kept talking. “Still can’t figure out why you’d associate with this _monster.”_

 _How dare she_ , he wanted to scream. A wave of fiery hot rage surged through him, overtaking all other senses.

Peter didn’t notice himself striding forward until he collided with Loki’s outstretched arm. He looked up at the god, anger still flaring inside him. He wanted to do something, something to make her hurt for daring to threaten, but all the god gave him was a small shake of the head.

“We?” Tony asked, tilting his head at the doctor. He looked just as angry as Peter felt. “Who’s ‘we’?”

Kozak’s smug expression fell, and her skin turned several shades paler. She turned her head, not meeting their eyes. Of course, now was the time when she stopped talking.

Loki stepped closer, drawing his magic up intimidatingly. “Answer the question.”

The doctor shook her head quickly, but still looked scared enough to possibly pass out. “I won’t talk. We have a chance to save the world from you. I have failed, but I won’t give up anything.”

There was a beat, before the room plunged in temperature. Frost crept up the windows, and ice formed beneath Loki’s feet. When Peter breathed, his breath came out in white puffs. He looked at Loki and saw that the god had that same savage smile on again. The one that promised all the pain in the world.

A shiver raced down his spine. Logically, he knew that Loki would never hurt him, but seeing Loki like this… it made him want to run.

The god took a graceful step forward, the cold and seiðr following him in elegant, deadly wisps.

“Is that right?” He purred, as he pulled out a dagger from his dimensional pocket. He casually felt the blade with the pad of his thumb, while meeting the doctor’s eyes. “Because something tells me that I could make you _sing.”_

The doctor was quaking, her body trembling in fear as the god advanced to her. She was absolutely helpless against him as she was terrified because of it. Tears back to leak down her face and something in Peter just broke and all the fury left in an instant.

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t what the heroes did. They were better than this.

Peter grabbed Loki’s arm, fully understanding that the action would do little to stop him if the trickster really wanted to shake him off. “Loki, stop.”

Loki did stop, and looked down at Peter with a couple confused blinks. “But I can _make_ her talk.”

A thousand horrible images flashed through Peter’s head before he arrived at the conclusion that, no, he did not want to think about that, thank you very much.

Tony put himself between them as well, arms out in an obvious placating gesture. “Come on, Merlin, there’s no need for murder—”

Loki interrupted with a wolfish grin and a flash of the dagger in his hand. “Who said anything about _murder?_ She couldn’t very well tell us if she died, now could she?”

“Loki, _don’t._ There are better ways to do this.”

The god tilted his head inquisitively, for a second looking more like an owl than a potential torturer. “Though likely none more efficient.”

“That’s not the point!” Peter exclaimed, volume rising with his looming sense of helplessness. He’d seen Loki angry before, sure, but nothing like this (whatever ‘this’ was). Not where Peter genuinely believed and had to remember that Loki was more than capable of murder. Not where he thought he might not be able to help. Peter tried regardless. “Listen. You aren’t thinking clearly right now—”

“My thought processes are perfectly capable—”

Peter did not buy that for one second, but imagined that telling Loki so would not calm the situation in the slightest. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re below six right now,” he said instead.

Loki glared darkly between Peter and Kozak, and Peter couldn’t tell who his anger might be directed at anymore; the doctor for trying to hurt his brother, or at Peter for stopping him from potentially dismembering her.

He waited for a few seconds for an answer, and didn’t get one, proving his point. “Exactly. What number?”

Loki’s teeth audibly set, but he still didn’t give a response.

Peter repeated his question: “What number?”

“Nine.”

Peter resolved to save his surprise for another time. He’d honestly expected a ten. _Nine._ If an immediate threat to his family was nine, what would warrant a ten? He kinda didn’t want to ponder that question. The thought of Loki at a ten scared him more than he would like to admit.

Peter lightly shuffled around to Loki’s side, trying to herd him away from the scene, and—to his great surprise—Loki allowed it. Getting close to the god, meant nearly freezing his fingers off, but luckily as Loki seemed to calm down the room began to return to its normal temperature. He guessed this was why Loki never seemed to be cold, cause apparently he had some kind of ice powers that Peter didn’t even know about. He would have to ask the god about them later.

“Come on,” Peter urged, “I’m sure Tony has her under control. We’ll get the information without removing any body parts.”

Loki scoffed but kept pace with Peter as he went down a hall that led to Thor’s room. It was clear that the god was still furious and hurt, and he looked ready to lash out at nearly anything. But, he had lost the obvious, murder-y demeanour and didn’t look one inch away from ripping someone’s head off. So Peter was willing to count it as a win.

The plain white door opened to reveal Thor, still unconscious, and wearing a thin hospital gown with a light grey print of the Stark Industries logo in a repeating pattern. To the left of the bed sat a dark grey couch with bright orange pillows—something Loki had brought in early on because—for some reason—he just kept furniture stored in his dimensional pocket.

Peter had asked why at some point, but only learned that Loki bought the couch from Ikea and no other information. It was amusing to imagine Loki winding through the modern maze of Ikea, probably interrogating the poor worker who had the misfortune of trying to please the notoriously picky god. It was a funny enough thought that Peter chuckled nearly every time he saw the couch.

Loki took a seat on the far end of the couch, elbows resting on his knees with his face buried in his hands. Peter sat in the middle, and leaned back, feeling his fatigue return in full force now that the adrenaline of the action had worn off. Mostly.

“Hey,” he said, lightly patting Loki’s shoulder. “It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. Thor’s fine. Tony has it covered.”

Loki sagged back, and dropped his hands to his sides. “I should have known this was coming.”

“You know none of this is your fault, right?”

“She came after him because of me.”

“Still not your fault,” Peter insisted. “One crazy lady who thinks you’re evil and decided to attack a hospital patient—that’s whose fault it is. No one else’s.”

Loki scoffed. “But it is not simply _‘one crazy lady’,_ is it? They all believe so.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“People. Midgardians. _Everyone.”_

“Not me.”

“No,” Loki agreed, “not you. But most. And that is not the worst part. I should have seen this coming. It was truly only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

“It’s still no one’s fault but the doctor’s,” Peter said.

Loki huffed a humourless laugh. “I only wonder how long it will take before they find evidence of our friendship. And then what?”

“Then we’ll deal with it.” Peter yawned as he said that, covering up his mouth with his elbow. The adrenaline really was wearing off and all the exhaustion he had built up in the day was crashing back into him.

“But, spider, it cannot be that simple She mentioned you _by name.”_

“And there’s nothing we can do until we figure out who’s in the rest of her little conspiracy theory club.” God, all he wanted to do was sleep and this couch was quickly feeling a lot comfier. Peter lay down across on his back, legs dangling over the armrest, and head resting on Loki’s leg.

Loki startled at the sudden weight on his leg, before looking down at him quizzically. “What are you doing?” he asked but didn’t make a move to get up.

Peter shrugged as much as he could, and offered: “I’m tired, and you looked comfortable?”

Loki chuckled, and Peter felt his leg bounce with the sound. “Is that right?”

“Mmhmm. Had to pull an all-nighter. Remember the energy project that you distracted me and Ned from? Yeah, well. Didn’t really sleep last night.”

 _“I_ distracted you?” Loki hummed dryly “If I recall correctly, there was a rather large set of Legos involved—”

“You know,” Peter cut him off and tried to change the subject without really knowing what he was trying to change the subject _to._ “When was the last time _you slept?”_ he decided on after an awkward moment of silence.

“Don’t remember.”

“See, that’s worse.”

“Well, you saw what happened when I left for no more than a couple of hours.”

_Is that what happened?_

“I left for no more than three hours to check in with Brunnhilde, and finalize the details of the trade agreement with Japan, and I returned to—” he gestured vaguely “—this.”

Peter frowned, and very quickly found a thick blanket falling over him from nowhere. _Magic_ —probably the coolest thing ever. No. _Definitely_ the coolest thing ever. “Well,” he said, letting his heavy eyelids drift close, “with the both of us here, nobody could sneak up on us. Not even Natasha.” Okay, so _maybe_ Natasha, but the point stood. Nothing bad could happen with Peter’s spider-sense and Loki’s magic-sense (which was not officially a thing but very well could be).

With the warmth of the blanket over him, Peter quickly gave into sleep with the soft whirring of the hospital machines filling the small room.

* * *

Loki woke with an ache in his neck, and a vague recollection of giving in to sleep on the couch. Noticeably missing was the minorly uncomfortable weight that had been resting on his right leg earlier. Peter had gone, then; curfew, most likely, given the time.

He brought a hand up to the back of his neck to massage some of the tightness away. He spent some time like that—just sitting, thinking about everything they knew thus far about the attacks, which seemed to have one common factor: Victor von Doom. If anything was clear about this situation, it was that the metal masked man was behind it. Between Doom’s escape from prison, and the Doombots at the crash site, who else could it be?

And yet…

Loki had a strange intuition that this sort of planning did not exactly match the mortal sorcerer’s style. Using civilians rather than his twisted machinations to do the dirty work; Doom himself would likely not risk his person in such an attack. Still, why would he not use Doombots? To keep the blame for the attack off his head? Perhaps.

Then again, Doom never had a problem with claiming credit for his villainy in the past.

He elected to leave the matter alone, for now, pulling out his phone, and sending a text to Brunnhilde to tell her about the situation. She called less than thirty seconds later, insisting that they should return to New Asgard. Though, in all honesty, New Asgard’s security measures were… less than ideal. Thor would be safe with the Avengers, for now, loathe as he was to admit it.

Brunnhilde eventually hung up to attend a brief council meeting about funds for the community centre, and Loki pulled a few folders of different trade deals to work on, seeing as sleep would most likely continue to elude him for the rest of the night.

Halfway through the technology exchange program with Wakanda, the sheets rustled on the bed. Loki gathered the papers that were floating around him, and stood from the couch slowly to lean over his brother.

“Thor?”

His breathing had changed; a little deeper, a little less even, and Loki could see the muscles in his hand shifting from atop the covers. Thor’s eye blearily blinked open, then closed.

Loki dimmed the lights to a faint glow with a flick of his fingers. “Brother, are you awake?”

Thor made a sound somewhere between a hum and a rasp, and nodded minutely. “What happened?”

“You were an idiot.”

His brother’s lips tilted up slightly into a faint smile. “So, nothing new then?”

Loki inhaled deeply, and resisted the urge to smack his brother over the head, possibly with the blunt end of Stormbreaker.

Why couldn’t he take anything seriously? He nearly _died._

Greater was the relief that Thor was aware and alive enough to be making light of the situation, as was his wont. He decided he would yell at him later.

“No,” Loki breathed, letting the tension bleed out of him in a rush, “nothing new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter took a seat on the couch, and let out a long sigh after spending what had to be the last half hour cajoling Loki into taking a break. As Peter had recently discovered, the dubbed “coffee spell” had its limits; it could mask the effects of tiredness, but not generate energy.
> 
> Thor sighed as well, but more forcefully. He looked equally—if not more—exasperated with Loki’s apparent lack of self-care. “Spider-child,” he said, sounding suspiciously mischievous. “The shirt with the depiction of ‘Get Help’ on it—would you be able to procure another?”
> 
> Peter blinked. That was not the question he was expecting. “Uh, yeah?” He could ask Shuri to make another. The Wakandan princess had deeply enjoyed Peter’s animated explanation of ‘Get Help’. “Does Valkyrie want one?” Peter asked because he couldn’t imagine either Loki or Heimdall requesting a custom-made T-shirt. Valkyrie, on the other hand, would undoubtedly get a kick out of it.
> 
> But Thor shook his head. “I have an idea for a _new_ design.” He beckoned Peter over with a hand, and Peter leaned down, so he could whisper in his ear (only for dramatics, Peter thought; there was nobody else in the room).
> 
> Thor explained his idea with a light spark in his eye, then asked: “Do you think my brother will like it?”
> 
> “Oh, no,” Peter replied with a devilish smirk. “He’s going to hate it.”
> 
> “Perfect.”
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> A few days of good rest and Asgardian super-biology saw Thor up and at it again. However, Peter still wondered how he had the confidence to walk into the common area of Avengers Tower wearing the new shirt.
> 
> Peter couldn’t help but admire the finished product of his efforts. Captain Rogers had done the comic-style art of Thor in an ‘oh well’ pose, while Shuri had added the bolded caption: “I almost got killed by a crazy lady and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.”
> 
> Loki, who was lounging on a bean bag chair and reading, looking up and nearly choked on his tea. Within a fraction of a second, the tea and book had vanished, and the god was on his feet and stalking towards Thor. He briefly examined the artwork, then flatly declared: “No.”
> 
> “But brother,” Thor protested with false innocence, “the Spider-ling and the Princess of Panthers put much work into making this shirt.”
> 
> “No,” Loki repeated. “Absolutely not. Take it off.”
> 
> Thor smirked. _“Make me.”_  
>   
> 
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> Peter’s stomach dropped all fifty-seven floors to the basement when he heard the ding of the elevator behind him. Thor and Loki must have heard too because they also froze, Thor’s arm half-raised and ready to throw, and Loki shielding his face with a pillow. And Peter… Peter stuck to the ceiling like his life depended on it.
> 
> They all watched the elevator open with wide eyes.
> 
> Tony looked up from his phone, and immediately went rigid, taking in the scene of destroyed furniture, swinging light fixtures, and fluff everywhere. The genius muttered something under his breath, and leaned over to press the elevator's down button.  
> With a ding, the doors closed, and the battle raged on.


	6. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [salparadiselost](https://salparadiselost.tumblr.com/) for infinite patience and being the best beta and friend I could ask for! <3

_"Every villain is a hero in his own mind"_

_-Tom Hiddleston_

* * *

_Ten_

_"Hey kid, how’s your vacation so far?”_

Peter turned away from the square, laughing to himself under his breath. He had taken the best photo of MJ with pigeons that had been using her arm as a landing perch. It was absolutely hilarious, and now Ned was attempting the same. Only, he kept freaking out because he thought the pigeons were going to defecate on him. MJ had called him a coward, and then it turned into a challenge of ‘who can get the most pigeons to land on their arms without freaking out’.

“Amazing,” Peter replied, ignoring Ned’s panicked shrieks as another took a place on his arm, but his friend remained stiff like a statue, unwilling to lose the competition just yet. “Just _awesome._ I mean, the museum was closed, but that’s kind of fine because we have all this free time now, y’know?” He took a look around. The sun was shining with the faintest hint of a breeze to cool the air, MJ was laughing, and Ned was now full-on screaming.

_“Nobody’s dying over there?”_

Ah, so that sound carried through, then.

“Uh, no. That’s Ned. He’s currently fighting an army of pigeons.”

_“And what are you doing right now?”_

“Watching Ned fight an army of pigeons.”

_“Sounds fun.”_

“You?”

_“Driving Morgan to school.”_ Peter heard rustling on the other side of the line. _“Morgoona, want to say hi to Peter?”_

_“Hi Petey!”_ Morgan chirped. _“Where’re you?”_

Peter laughed. Morgan’s voice was just the _cutest._ “I’m in Venice. Europe. You going to school?”

_“Yeah. I don’t wanna. School’s boring. I wish I could be in Be… nish.”_

Adorable.

_“Don’t we all,”_ said Tony, and Peter heard the blinkers clicking. _“Got your backpack?”_ There was a little snapping noise as the door opened. A pause; long enough for Peter to think he’d been put on hold, but no. Tony had probably gotten out of the car. A second later, his suspicion was confirmed as he heard the car door close and Tony say: _“So, how’s your plan going?”_

Peter sighed. Right. _That._ “Not great,” he admitted. The first phase of the plan had failed drastically. On the plane, he’d ended up putting MJ and Brad together and separating himself from Ned. So, _that_ was not well done. But he did have the necklace now, so that was… at least part of the plan that he could check off on the mental list he had going. “I messed up the seats on the plane.”

_“Well, that was inevitable. Teachers never give good seating arrangements. Y’know,”_ said Tony with a light sigh that Peter had heard countless times when talking about his plan. _“You don’t have to do all this. Just be yourself. No need for a plan.”_

“Easy for you to say,” Peter mumbled, pacing a little across the cobblestones.

_“What is that supposed to mean?”_

He lowered his voice. “You’re _Tony Stark._ Of course, you don’t need any planning.”

Tony immediately countered: _“And you’re Spider-man. You don’t need any extra help either.”_

Peter shook his head, even though he knew this was a phone call. He was awful at phone calls. Always forgot that the other person couldn’t see him. “Not right now. Right now, I’m _Peter Parker._ And Peter Parker needs all the help he can get.”

There was another sigh on the other end. It was louder this time. Changing the subject entirely, Tony asked: _“Have you thought about my offer?”_

Peter nodded ( _really, Parker, he can’t see you_ ) enthusiastically. “I have. Are you sure you have that much time, though?”

_“Is this a question about how much time I have or a question about my teaching skills?”_

“The former,” Peter answered without missing a beat.

_“Good. Because I’ll have you know I successfully taught Wanda, Cap,_ and _Thor how to drive. So, if I can teach a fossil from the forties and an alien god, a teenager will be fine.”_

Peter laughed to himself a little, then responded snidely: “But I’ve never _seen_ Thor drive. Or Wanda.” He had seen Captain Rogers drive once at the Compound. He wasn’t too bad.

Tony chuckled, and Peter heard the blinker again. Then a horn. Then someone (not Tony) yelling. _“He’s actually pretty okay. It’s Loki you should be worried about. Never get in a car with Loki.”_

“Um, why? Did you teach him too?” Peter mocked.

_“Ha ha,”_ Tony dryly shot back. _“Tried to.”_

“And?”

_“He got tired of waiting for the traffic lights within the first five minutes, and insisted that there were ‘more efficient methods of transportation that don’t involve poisoning the planet’. Which, yeah, he’s got a point. Still upset about the car, though. The NSX is still floating around in the garage. That was_ months _ago.”_

Peter’s blood froze. If Tony tried to teach Loki how to drive on the Acura, what car would Peter be learning on? “Please tell me I’m not going to be learning on a sports car.” If he crashed… the cost of repairs for some crashes could be more than some people made in a year; Peter had seen it on the news when some rich idiot wrecked their sports car and didn’t buy insurance. He was pretty sure that Tony had insurance, but that wasn’t the point.

_“Why not? If you’re gonna learn to drive, you gotta do it in style.”_

“Because I don’t wanna be one of those people who crash a Ferrari on their first time driving.”

“You’re not going to crash,” Tony assured.

Peter wasn’t too sure about that, and he was not about to be responsible for costing Tony thousands of dollars.

_“Well? I’m still hanging on for an answer.”_

“Okay,” he agreed. “Whenever you have time.”

_“Cool. One condition,”_ Tony said.

Peter froze partway between confusion and wariness. “Uh, sure?”

_“No floating Acuras.”_

He chuckled lightly to himself. “No floating Acuras,” he repeated. Peter didn’t even think he _could_ get a car to float. Unless… if the car was suspended by webs, would it count as floating, or just hanging? He could probably get Loki to help. He’d enjoy exploiting any loophole he could find just for the sake of it. “Hey, I gotta go. Pretty sure Ned’s gonna give himself a heart attack any second.” Speaking of whom, Peter’s friend was currently curled into a ball while MJ was well on her way to becoming the Goddess of Pigeons. So, she’d won the contest then. He needed another photo.

_“No problem. Call me tomorrow?”_

“Will do. Bye, Tony!”

_“See you soon, kid.”_

Peter lowered the phone from his ear and pressed the little red symbol to end the call. Ned was still cowering before MJ and her pigeon flock. It was equal parts intimidating as it was funny. “You okay there?” he asked as he jogged up to them.

MJ answered for him: “He’s fine. Just a little…”

“Boh,” Ned filled in. So, she had told him about that too. Peter had a feeling he was going to be hearing a lot of that word over the course of the trip.

One of the pigeons pecked at the edge of MJ’s shirt. She giggled, spun in a circle, and all at once, they flew away.

“Who called?” MJ asked once the fluttering of wings had died down to a more manageable noise level.

“Uh,” Peter stuttered, mind frantically trying to come up with someone whom it would make sense to be calling. “My… aunt.” That would hopefully sell. “She… wanted me to bring back souvenirs.” He desperately hoped the lie was convincing enough. Basically everyone in his life agreed that Peter couldn’t lie very well, which was good (“honesty is the best policy” and all) and awful because he couldn’t stop looking suspicious.

MJ looked skeptical, but said: “Ah. Okay. Shall we?”

Peter answered with a light smile: “Boh.” He inwardly released a sigh of relief that she had bought his lie. Or, if not bought it, then at least not called him out on it.

They made their way through the aged streets of Venice, pointing out various things as they walked. Well, the streets weren’t really _streets_ so much as little sidewalks by the sides of the canals. Ned found a hand-sized model of one of the palaces. All of its windows lit up when you pressed a button on the bottom, so he bought that for his sister, who had a growing collection of nightlights (Peter had seen said collection; it was actually pretty impressive). 

Eventually, Peter found a postcard to send to May. It was a picture of a little bridge over a canal with the sun setting underneath. She would probably stick it to the fridge. For Morgan, he found a pocket-sized colouring book with street scenes of Venice and old Italian royalty (she was going through her princess phase). Tony had _specifically_ asked for a certain brand of Italian candy, and that took some time to track down. But Peter bought one for himself and oh-ho boy, he could see why this was a special request.

(He may have purchased a few extras that Tony didn’t need to know about.)

Peter bought a few other postcards for the Avengers, filling them out with little messages, random facts about the city, and references to obscure inside jokes. He could imagine them—especially the Captain and Black Widow—arguing over who got the best picture. If Peter was being honest, Natasha definitely had the best picture. He would love seeing her lord it over their heads for forever.

That was when MJ suddenly poked her head over his shoulder. _Naturally,_ Peter’s idiot spider-sense didn’t think she was ‘dangerous’, and so he received no warning in advance.

“Who’re you writing to?” she asked as Peter frantically and futilely attempted to cover up the addresses and names.

“Uh… _friends?”_ It sounded like a question. It wasn’t supposed to sound like a question. “In upstate New York,” he added, as if that would make it better. 

MJ looked at him skeptically. She opened her mouth as if to say something else, but seemed to disregard her thought, and shrugged before shuffling off.

Peter tried not to let his relief show, keeping his held breath in until she was far enough away not to hear when he released it. He could almost hear the question bouncing around in her mind. _But we’re your only friends,_ she would say. _And you don’t have any family other than May._

From there, it would only get worse. She would probably either clue into his secret other self, or assume he had a girlfriend. Peter didn’t know which one he dreaded more.

Thankfully, the crisis was averted because she didn’t ask, sparing Peter the embarrassment of attempting to explain himself and the very slight chance of revealing his secret persona.

He folded the cards into his backpack, tucking them in between the novel he’d been reading on the plane, so they wouldn’t get squished in with all the other stuff. He’d send them off the next morning. “Are you going to buy any souvenirs?” Peter asked MJ when they’d left.

And just like that, the previous conversation was all but forgotten.

* * *

Peter woke up because of his spider-sense, which, he decided, was like the mood swings of the average teenager. He expected to see danger. A threat, at least but… There was _nothing there._ He sat up anyway, rubbing his eyes as they adjusted to the dim lighting of the hotel room. Still nothing.

Seconds later, he heard the soft patter of footsteps of a classmate walking down the hall outside—no doubt making a late-night trip to the restroom.

_Stupid, useless spider-sense that can’t figure out what the word ‘danger’ means._

Peter let out a long sigh and pulled the thin covers over his shoulders. This was why he couldn’t get any sleep.

But…

The footsteps were long gone, and the blaring alarm of his inconsistent spider-sense _wasn’t._

“What _now?”_ Peter muttered into his pillow, then rolled onto his back. Was something _actually_ wrong this time, or was this like all the other times his sixth sense had yelled at him because there was a puddle in front of him?

Very suddenly, there was a shift in the air, and something sharp plunged into the side of his neck. Peter tried to yell, and found his mouth covered by a wet, heavily scented cloth.

_A drug._

He frantically tried to lift his arms to fend off his invisible attacker, but his movements were slow and uncontrollable, likely because of the r drug they’d used. How the _hell_ had it gotten through his hyper-fast metabolism so quickly?

But he had no time to ponder the reason; his vision was already blackening at the edges.

_So much for bringing the suit,_ Peter thought bitterly, _much good it did him, sitting in his suitcase._

He felt himself being carefully lifted from the bed, and as his head lolled to the side, Peter caught a glimpse of Ned still soundly snoring away. _Wake up!_ Peter desperately tried to mentally yell at him. But who was he kidding? Spider-man didn’t have telepathy. Still. He tried.

His world spun and the blackness finally consumed his vision.

* * *

Tony had been sleeping when his phone rang, a loud buzzing noise that—by some miracle—didn’t wake Pepper, which he was grateful for. She needed all the rest she could get between running Stark Industries, and looking after Morgan. He sleepily rolled over and picked it up, the bright screen illuminating the room. He expected Peter or maybe one of the Guardians. They wouldn’t remember (or care, in the case of the Guardians) that it was three in the morning.

His eyes adjusted slowly, still blinking away the sleep.

‘Blocked Caller ID’, it read in capitalized white letters.

Great.

So, now he was getting spam calls in the middle of the night. Brilliant. Time to change his number. Again. Or find a way to block them all. Yeah, that might be easier. Or he could hack into their systems and shut them down from within as a little afternoon project. Yeah, that would be better. He could get his revenge on the spammers for disturbing his sleep. Did they have any idea how hard it was to get a decent sleep with a five-year-old?

He pressed the ‘reject call’ button before setting down the phone and going back to sleep.

Not for long.

The phone rang again.

Okay. _Fine._

Maybe it wasn’t a spammer.

Tony reluctantly got out of bed, picked up the phone, and stepped into the nightlight-lit hallway, before asking: “How did you get this number?” He walked down the hall away from Pepper, who was still sleeping.

_“From your kid,”_ answered the person on the other end. Tony froze. This person either had an awful sense of humour, or they were about to get toasted by the Avengers. Or both. _“If you want to keep the kid back in one piece, I suggest you stay on the phone.”_ The voice was male, American, and adult. 

Tony was already on the way to Morgan’s room, just a few steps down the hall from the master bedroom. “FRIDAY.” He opened the creaky door. All the cabin’s doors were just a little creaky. Morgan was soundly asleep in bed, face buried in a pillow in a way that made Tony question how she was breathing.

_She’s fine._

The voice on the other end scoffed. _“Don’t bother. Even your systems won’t be able to get through my firewall.”_

Tony highly doubted that. “FRIDAY?” he asked again, half running, half walking down the stairs.

The AI replied: _“Peter’s teacher recorded him in attendance a few hours ago. I don’t have a location on Harley.”_

A few hours ago. A lot could happen in a few hours. And Harley… fewer than ten people outside the Avengers even knew that Tony had paid his college tuition. Fewer knew that he kept up with the kid on a regular basis.

He went over to the table, which immediately sprung up a display of the project he’d been working on earlier in the day. A little red alert popped up in the corner. FRIDAY couldn’t trace the call. “Which one?”

_“‘Which one?’”_

Tony blinked, and pulled up the phone call on the display. He started working through the firewall despite his slightly trembling hands. The firewall—contrary to what the caller had claimed—was rather easy to get through. Easier than SHIELD (he’d helped with theirs), and that said a lot.

_“I would have thought that was obvious, Mr. Stark.”_

Peter or Harley?

Harley would probably annoy his kidnapper half to death before Tony could even put the suit on. Peter—miniature genius as he was—would probably escape in a few hours. Tops.

_“The one who calls himself Spider-man.”_

Peter.

Tony reached the part he was pretty sure FRIDAY got stuck on. She was the best on the market, but she still had issues. This part looked like it was protected by another AI, something designed specifically for this purpose. He knew what to do with these.

A few finger flicks, and Tony had a virus eating away at the caller’s sad excuse for an AI. 

“Okay, first,” said Tony, watching the virus efficiently do its work. The firewall’s AI was down in less than a minute. “You’re an idiot if you think you can threaten me and get away with it. Second, you just messed with the Avengers. You’re dead.”

A location popped up on the screen.

_Peachy._

_“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”_

The caller was… in Latveria. Doom. Tony swore. FRIDAY couldn’t get a voice match, but that would no longer be necessary. The voice did not belong to Doom himself; Tony knew because he’d heard the supervillain’s voice both in tapes and in person. Honestly, the egotistical maniac was unable to _not_ talk about himself and his “grand plans for mankind” for more than a couple of minutes.

So, he’d gotten one of his little cronies to do it for him. Fine.

_Coward._

For hiding behind others.

For kidnapping a _child._

Tony was going to _end him._

Sure, the UN should probably be involved as stated in the amended Accords (so much better. _So much)_ but this wasn’t business, this was _personal._ Attack SI—sure. Attack the Avengers—go for it. But go after his family? No piece of paper was going to help Doom now.

Tony considered donning the suit and flying over to Latveria at mach-three right now, but… that level of arrogance bordered on recklessness. Besides, Pepper would probably kill him if he wound up in over his head because he didn’t know enough about Doom’s magic yet.

_But..._

Tony knew just who to call.

* * *

Loki had been doing a little morning paperwork, sitting comfortably on the new beanbag chair—something Peter had helped him acquire from the same place he’d gotten the couch. Apparently, the mortals had some bizarre fascination with walking around that particular furniture store by following the patterns of arrows on the floor, and dining at the cafeteria there. Loki did not understand where said fascination came from, but enjoyed the experience, nonetheless.

Loki jumped a little when he heard Thor’s phone start blasting music throughout the house; _the Immigrant Song,_ it was called. Peter had said it was a “meme”, and at the very least, Loki had enjoyed his brother’s reaction whenever the song started playing during council meetings. The best part, however, was that he had no clue how to turn it off. Meaning, his embarrassment was a recurring fact of life. Loki would readily admit that he was proud of the Spider who had taken after his antics of mischief.

He set the paperwork aside on the coffee table and went over to find out who was calling—most likely one of the Avengers requesting help on a mission. Perhaps it had to do with Doom.

His former suspicion was confirmed when he read the caller ID: “Tony.”

With Thor still in bed and fast asleep, Loki picked up the phone. “Tony,” he started to say, and was immediately interrupted.

_“Finally!”_ Tony exclaimed. There were footsteps on the other end; he was pacing. _“Why the hell do you answer Thor’s phone but not yours? I’ve called you like a million times. God, you’re worse than Steve.”_

Oh. Right. His phone was in his dimensional pocket, something even Tony’s tech hadn’t figured a way around. Though, to be fair, sending electronic signals to other dimensions was considered impossible by most. Though, perhaps with assistance from Jane Foster… Loki tucked away the idea in the back of his head for after whatever Tony had called to say.

_“We have a problem. Doom—”_

Loki blinked, somewhat startled by the revelation. “You found him?” After all his scrying and tracking spells… 

_“Well not exactly. More like he found us. Doom… Doom took Peter.”_

* * *

Thor had barely been awake when Loki dragged him out of bed, shoved clothes in his arms, and demanded that he get ready immediately. He was more awake now. And he understood his brother’s urgency.

( _“Get up, you oaf, we have to leave right now. Doom has taken Peter.”)_

He hadn’t heard his brother sound in such a panic since, well… since the _Statesman._ Since Loki had pleaded with Thor to get to an escape pod and run, to get out before it was too late. Even six years later, Thor could still remember his voice clearly. That was the moment their short reprieve after Ragnarok had abruptly ended, and everything went straight to Hel.

Now, it was not much different. Loki practically vibrated with tension in his seat, staring into a spot on the floor with his hands periodically clenching and unclenching in front of him. Since his tracking spell had failed for the seventh time—he only stopped because Thor insisted he was going to drive himself mad trying the same thing over and over—he’d taken to tensely worrying from his seat in Tony’s lab.

“There’s something blocking the signal,” Loki explained, without really explaining.

Tony, ever curious, naturally pressed for more.

“Tracking spells are like tethers that connect the caster to the object or person being searched for. Now, in a usual situation, you can extrapolate more information about where the other end is by examining where the tether leads. However, in this case, it’s like there’s a wall where there should be more rope, one I can’t see past.”

The billionaire swallowed deeply, looking slightly pale. “Does that mean…” he trailed off, unable or unwilling to conclude the sentiment. “If you can’t see him, do we even know for certain that he’s still _alive?”_

“Yes,” Loki answered quickly. “Again, imagine the tether. I may not be able to see the other side, but the connection would not be able to exist in the first place if there was nothing to connect it to.”

Thor morbidly wondered if the spell would simply connect to Peter’s lifeless body, if the tracking spell was searching for only a corpse. He didn’t want to dwell on that thought, however, and quickly put it from his mind. They’d find the boy, and he’d be fine.

“So,” said Tony, startling Thor out of his thoughts. He moved around the holographic display in the lab, and waved his hand at it. “Your buddy Heimdall can’t find him, your tracking spell can’t find him—” Loki visibly clenched his teeth “—my tracing program led us to Latveria. I think we have to go with what we’ve got.”

“And what do we have?” Thor asked.

“A location. The recorded phone call.”

“That was not Doom’s voice on the phone,” Loki pointed out, finally looking up from a spot on the floor for what had to be the first time in the past half hour.

“Think he’s been recruiting?”

“Perhaps.” The corner of Loki’s lip tilted downward as he pondered the question. “He may have disguised his voice with magic, though I fail to see the point in that. Or he has forged new alliances since our last encounter.”

“Alliances with whom, though?” Thor inquired.

“Hydra?” Loki offered, and Thor had to take a second to wonder how he even knew about the organization in the first place.

“We wiped them off the board after your second not-death,” Tony supplied. “But the Five Years left a lot of people pretty unhappy with the Avengers.”

That was the understatement of the century, and—judging by Tony’s grimace—he felt the same way. “Right,” said Thor, “so there could be new players involved?”

“Probably.”

Loki’s hands trembled slightly. Thor knew he hated the uncertainty of it all. His brother had been getting on well with the other Avengers despite their previous experiences, and Thor was more than happy that he’d found a friend in the young spider-child. “Is there any place we could gather more information?”

“We could get into the hotel room,” Tony suggested. “That’s the last place he was seen.”

“That is not a wise idea,” Loki objected, shaking his head slightly. “How would Peter be able to explain _the Avengers_ being in on his missing person’s case?”

He had a point, Thor agreed, crossing his arms. “Then we sneak in. Up for a bit of mischief, brother?”

“Fine.”

“If there’s no new information, we can gather the team, make a plan, head over to Latveria, and kick Doom’s ass to hell and back by tomorrow morning?”

Thor nodded. He didn’t like thinking of Peter being in Doom’s captive overnight, but couldn’t see another option. A sharp intake of breath drew his eyes to Loki, who was breathing slightly heavy, but utterly motionless. “Brother?”

“No.”

The tone of his voice sent shivers down Thor’s spine, but that wasn’t the only thing getting chillier in the room. The air temperature was dropping, and Tony noticeably shivered.

“Loki…”

Loki stood quickly, the chair scratching against the tiled floor as it was pushed back. “We don’t have _time_ to idly sit around making plans while Peter could be _out there—”_

“Loki.”

“We know he isn’t dead, but he could be hurt, or dy _ing_ , or—”

“Loki!”

_“What?”_

Thor nodded his head towards Loki’s abandoned chair, which had ice covering most of the back side. Loki took a step back and turned around to look at it. He swallowed, almost as if he was afraid of the short jagged icicles clinging to the bottom. His mouth parted in a soft but astonished “oh”. He took a step back, away from the chair.

Thor stepped towards his brother, worry clouding over his other senses. He was vaguely aware of Tony hovering somewhere behind him, obviously unsure about what to do. Ignoring the way the air temperature dropped as Thor approached him, Thor lightly held Loki at the elbow and ushered him from the room.

His brother’s silence spoke volumes about his state of mind.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Loki breathed.

“Has that…” Thor started, unsure of how to phrase his question about the ice. He and Loki had spoken at length after Steve had returned the Stones with Natasha in tow. But still. His Jotunn ancestry remained one of the “tip-toe” subjects, as Thor liked to call them. “Has that happened before?”

“I… yes… no… not always. I don’t want it to,” Loki said, something vulnerable and pleading in his tone. He began to pace across the length of the short corridor frantically. “It just… happens.” He looked to Thor, briefly meeting his eyes, before his eyes returned to the bland linoleum tiles. “I’m trying to control it but… I—I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. It’s okay.”

“But it’s _not.”_

There was a long heavy pause before Loki spoke again.

“I just hate… I thought I could control it. I thought I could keep him safe… But…” His voice trailed off, something dark flashing in his eyes. 

His hands clenched as he spoke, knuckles whitening as his fingernails dug into skin. Thor grabbed them, and gently eased his fingers open. “We’ll find him,” he promised as Loki shook. “We’ll find him.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Thor closed the distance between them and pulled Loki into an embrace, wrapping his arms around him tightly like that would stop him from trembling. It didn’t cease the slight shudders—not entirely—but it did help.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, rubbing soft circles into Loki’s back. “It’s okay. We’ll find him.”

“I can’t control _anything_ —What if Doom…” Whatever he was going to say disappeared as his breathing dissolved into irregular gasps.

“Just breathe, brother. We’ll find him.”

Thor tightened his hold on him, and stayed like that until Loki’s breaths deepened, and he emerged from his state of panic.

Breaking away, Loki ran his hands over his face, and nodded once. “We’ll find him.”

* * *

It was not difficult to enter foldspace—‘the branches of Yggdrasil’, some called it. As much as Loki appreciated the poetry of the latter, the former offered the practicality of fewer syllables. It was, however, quite difficult not to impatiently drag both Tony and Thor through the spaces between realms. This being Stark’s first time worldwalking, Loki did not want to make the experience too unpleasant, lest he thereafter object to his favoured method of travel.

His attempts clearly did not succeed, because as soon as the three of them arrived outside of Peter’s hotel, Tony fell to the ground on his knees, gasping for air. Thor, used to Loki’s preferred method of transportations, barely swayed on his feet.

“Tony,” said Thor, offering the human a hand off the ground. Stark took it, and rose on unsteady legs. “Are you all right?”

The billionaire shook his head hastily to clear his thoughts. Human minds, Loki theorized, were likely never meant to process what could be seen in foldspace. “Fine, fine. Let’s… not do that again.”

Loki inclined his head. “Unless you have a faster means of travel…”

Tony waved him off. “Yeah, no. We’ll find him first. Then, never again.”

They entered the building wordlessly, Loki wrapping an illusion around the group, and muffling the sound of their footsteps. In the lobby, one of Peter’s teachers was on the couch with a cell phone pressed to his ear. “Right. Yes, I have a missing student.” He paused, and the group unanimously decided to stop and listen. On one of the chairs, Loki recognized Peter’s friend from school, Ned, who looked overly worried, head held between his arms.

The teacher continued: “A few hours ago. His roommate woke up and notified us… Yes. We did a search around the block, but I can’t leave the other students for more than a few minutes.”

Loki silently curved around the empty front desk, and sifted through the documents on the computer until he found Peter’s room. The group made their way to the second floor without saying anything. He muffled the sounds of the creaking stairs all the way up. His door was left open, so they entered without resistance, and Thor closed it behind him, allowing Loki to drop the illusion.

In Peter’s room, he immediately noticed a slight flicker of magical energy. There was something amiss. Nothing… harmful, per se, just present.

“What are we looking for?” Thor asked quietly, head turning between the two small beds in the cramped room.

Tony shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Thor picked up a backpack that Loki recognized as Peter’s, and slowly unzipped the main pocket, pulling out a few books and laying them out on the bed. One, Loki noticed, had pieces of paper in between the pages. He pulled them out.

“Postcards,” said Tony, reaching for one, and flipping it over. “He got us postcards.”

Loki did not know what ‘postcards’ were. He looked through them until he found an address he recognized. That was his house.

That was—

Turning over the postcard, Loki read the little message on the back, written in blue pen and slanted handwriting.

_‘Venice is made up of 118 slowly sinking islands. The city is sinking!_

_You’re probably wondering why humans would build on sinking islands._

_The answer is I don’t know._

_Humans are weird.’_

Loki did not know how long he stared at it. How many times he reread the words. How many times he pictured Peter at a tourist shop picking out postcards and—

“We’ll find him,” Tony assured, placing a firm hand on Loki’s shoulder. He was holding a small stack of cards, each with handwritten messages of their own. “Knowing Peter, he’s probably working on an escape plan already. He’ll be fine.”

Loki just nodded absently.

Tony looked around the room again, eyes settling on the backpack before he stepped over and started looking through it. “Any ideas, Merlin? Point Break?”

Thor suggested: “What about advanced tracking spells?”

The thought had—admittedly—crossed Loki’s mind more than once. Though, there were a few problems with the seemingly simple solution. “Those can be… risky. If the person being located is out of reach, or if there are spells in place to shield them from view…”

“You can go crazy,” Thor filled in, nodding thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the stories.”

“Not exactly,” Loki corrected, frowning. “They will provide a location, surely, but if that location cannot be reached, if something directs the spell elsewhere to a false location… on a technicality, the spell is not complete, and will continue to drain magic until the target is found. The madness is a side effect. Constantly having magic drained is…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought, and pushing down memories of _Sanctuary’s_ wards unceasingly meddling with his seiðr.

“But he’s on Earth, right?” asked Tony, squinting between the two of them. “Please tell me that they don't have anything to take him off-planet.” He took something out of the backpack—a candy of some sort, Loki thought.

“Likely not,” he answered, standing up from the bed. “As far as I know, Doom does not yet have the means for interplanetary travel.” Peter was, most likely, still on Earth. Unless… whoever Doom had allied with had connection in the rest of the galaxy.

Loki brought a hand up to his temple to massage his growing headache. He hadn’t realized pulling two other bodies with him through foldspace would be so taxing on his magic. Well. That was only part of the problem; the other being his constant difficulty with keeping it under control when all it wanted to do was tear apart the foundations of the planet until Peter was found.

Besides that, his magic felt completely, utterly _useless_ with what he knew of Doom—of what he had revealed of his abilities the last time they’d fought (if it could be called a fight). Perhaps he’d threatened too far, showboated excessively. He’d promised he’d be able to find Doom anywhere. And perhaps, then, he would have been able to. But now… now that the villain had knowledge of his tracking spells… 

It was a risky move; that kind of spell would drain him until it began to draw from his life force, killing him slowly in the process.

And if that did not kill him, Thor probably would do so for attempting such a thing (not that he needed the oaf’s permission, but… nearly losing Loki for a fourth time would do no good for their still mending relationship).

In light of all this, Loki knew that only one option remained, one that blatantly ignored the rules (Loki couldn’t care less about those at the moment) the governments had laid down for the so-called “enhanced individuals”. The option that Loki would describe as a Thor PlanTM, and… that was all the elaboration needed, really.

The Avengers were going to Latveria.

* * *

As his satellites pulled up imaging of Doom’s base, Tony could understand how he’d missed it when he’d first done a search of Latveria for Doom’s bases all the way back when Loki first caught the guy. First, the thing was under a freakin’ mountain, and though his sensors were the best in the business (best in the world, really), nothing could be _that_ good. Second, according to Loki, there was a fair bit of “amateur spellwork” involved in concealing it. “Amateur spellwork” that took the god all of a few seconds to dissolve without attracting Doom’s attention.

“How long did it take you to bring this guy down the last time?” Nat asked, turning to Loki. She’d insisted on coming as well as soon as she realized Tony couldn’t be talked out of it. They had picked her and Steve, who also insisted, up in Germany before arriving in Latveria.

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “A little more than a minute to cast the spell that took out the Doombots.”

“You’re saying you only need a couple of minutes?”

“Approximately.”

“Okay.” She nodded curtly. “Here’s the plan.” Natasha flicked her hand at the display in the centre of the Quinjet—cloaked and hovering idly at thirty-thousand feet—and the holographic model popped up, different sectors marked by changes in colour. Most of the hologram was spliced together by what Loki could gather from his magic scanning stuff, what Nat had guessed by common sense, and what Tony could scan, now that the magic field was down.

God, he hated all the magic stuff that continuously popped up, determined to mess with him and the laws of physics that he so loved.

Steve watched on expectantly, eyes widening fractionally at the detailed display, and Tony smirked a little. The living fossil never ceased to be impressed by modern technology.

The next fifteen minutes consisted of Natasha forming a solid plan in which she and Loki would sneak in through the ventilation system, while the others created a suitable distraction outside the main entrance, which happened to be a steel blast door five feet thick. Joy.

Well, they had Thor, so getting through that hopefully wouldn’t be _too_ much of a problem. On the other hand, they didn’t want to accidentally blow up the mountain with Peter inside.

From what Loki could gather from… magic stuff, Doom most likely used the underground facility as a backup manufacturing and storage site for his bots. So, they had to be on full alert for more Doombots than any of them they had ever seen in their lives put together.

For fifteen minutes, Natasha planned their little invasion of what had to be Doom’s last facility, the last place he could possibly fall back on. Once Natasha and Loki got into the building, they would find Peter and get out while the others found and captured Doom.

After this, the villain would be gone for good with none of his bots left to terrorize the planet. Good riddance.

Despite the firm establishment of a solid plan—and several backup plans—Loki did not at all seem at ease, practically vibrating with tension from where he stood beside Natasha. Thor kept shooting his brother worried glances every few seconds, trying not to be too obvious, and abjectly stuttering when Loki inevitably called him out on his lack of subtlety.

And, honestly, Tony couldn’t say that he was much better off than them. He was just about ready to screw planning and jump off the plane to get his kid back.

But that would be stupid, and he knew it. And Pepper would kill him if Doom didn’t, and death by Pepper was far more terrifying than Doom.

FRIDAY landed the plane a short distance from the base, a place that his scanners had previously ascertained was unreachable by Doom’s early defence system.

Loki said a quick goodbye before lightly touching Natasha’s shoulder and vanishing. Tony wondered how well _she_ would handle the worldwalking thing (apparently different from the _teleportation_ thing, but Tony was too done with the whole magic witchcraft nonsense to care at this point).

The Avengers, save Nat and the trickster god, departed the plane and made their way quietly on foot through Latveria’s evergreen forests to the front door of Doom’s little hideout. Well, it probably wasn’t too little on the inside. However, the relatively short but wide doors made it seem like it was little more than a rabbit hole. In reality, Tony estimated it went down at least a thousand feet.

Rays of white sunlight peeked through a thin layer of clouds from the highest point in the sky, probably making this the worst possible environment for a stealth mission. But they were the Avengers; they had been dealt worse weather conditions.

Everything went according to plan as they sneaked up. Thor blasted it with the largest bolt of lightning Tony had ever seen, and the Avengers were met with an onslaught of Doombots in varying stages of functionality. One outright collapsed as it came through the enormous hole in the side of the mountain. Another fell to pieces.

Tony idly wondered if Loki’s magic had something to do with that.

In any case, the failed batch of bots made it easy to get inside, especially when their numbers thinned out, and the Avengers were only left to deal with the stragglers.

Inside, it was like a scene from a horror movie, but without the scary part because Tony had the holographic 3D model, and could be confident that there would be no jump scares. Still, with dimly glowing lanterns hanging from the ceiling that cast long shadows on the smooth stone walls, it was easy to see how it could be mistaken for one.

FRIDAY led the small contingent of Avengers down the halls; right, left, left, straight, until they arrived at what looked like an elevator from the forties. Steve lifted the metal grate, and everyone got in after a quick scan for traps.

When the doors opened at the bottom (there were no buttons, it clearly just had two stops), Tony stepped out into a carved-out chamber that mirrored what they’d just done upstairs. Doombots were strewn all over the floor in pieces, and—by their positions—Tony guessed that they’d torn _themselves_ apart.

Huh. The theory that Loki’s magic had caused this mess was looking more and more plausible. Speaking of the magic man, he spotted Loki on the opposite side of the room, Doom pinned to the wall by spikes of ice jutting out of the floor.

_“Where is he,”_ Tony heard Loki growl at him, looking on the verge of murder. Well. Maybe not _murder_ seeing as that wouldn’t get him any answers as to where Peter was. But very close.

He jogged the rest of the way over—a short distance of ten metres or so—and Thor and Cap followed closely behind him.

Natasha stood by his side with a gun pointed to his head, the metal mask gone to reveal the scarred face of the supervillain.

“I’m not asking again,” Loki threatened, pulling a dagger out of nowhere to point it at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Doom snarled back, though it didn’t seem at all intimidating considering his current predicament.

Natasha shifted her stance. “You better start talking. I’m not going to stop him from gutting you. You mess with kids; this is what you get.”

“I did not kidnap this child you speak of.”

“Last chance,” Loki warned, spinning the dagger in his hand.

Tony interjected then: “I’m not going to stop him either. You took _my kid._ Where is he?”

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted. “I heard that part. Let’s skip the bit where you deny any involvement and fast-forward to you telling us where he is. Save us the trouble, so to speak. There are other ways of getting the information out of you, and you’re not going to like them.”

Loki levelled his glare at the man. “You kidnapped my friend, and hurt my brother. If you think you will receive any mercy from me, you are sorely mistaken.”

Doom only looked… confused? “You speak of the attack on your shipment. That was no doing of mine. I swear it.”

“Do you honestly believe that I would trust the word of a pathetic worm like you?”

“Check the times,” he said, smugly confident in his innocence. “I was imprisoned at the time. Check it.”

Tony turned away from the group that had come to swarm around Doom in a menacing semi-circle. “FRIDAY?” Couldn’t hurt to double-check, right?

_“It appears that Doom’s statement is correct. The discrepancy lies in the time zones.”_

How did they miss that? Time zones of all things. Tony sighed, partly disappointed that the bastard was actually telling the truth. “He’s right,” Tony admitted aloud, knowing the others couldn’t hear FRIDAY inside the suit.

“What about after?” Loki demanded. “The assassin sent to kill my brother—was that you?”

“When have I ever employed the use of pathetic humans?”

He hated to admit that he had a point. Tony looked the villain in the eye, motioning for them to back off just a tad. “You better start explaining _right now.”_

“I was framed. He wanted it to appear to be my attack to conceal his own. The Doombots at the scene… their parts were not accounted for, correct?”

Steve nodded curtly. “How do you know that?”

He shook his head. “I have my sources. But that is irrelevant.” Doom’s eyes drifted to a still murderous-looking Loki. “You, of all of them, should have been able to guess. You call yourself a sorcerer when you did not realize there is not a trace of magic in those drones?”

Loki went pale. Well, paler than the usual, at any rate. Tony could practically see the wheels turning in his head, and was just waiting for whatever connection he’d pieced together this time. “When you claimed not to have any knowledge of attacking me…”

Doom nodded. “I was speaking the truth, yes. I have no knowledge of the attack that incentivized you to hunt me down the first time.”

“Wait, when?” Tony cut in, feeling a little lost. He’d clearly missed a good chunk of their conversation.

Loki answered: “When Doombots attacked me and the child in the alley. That was ‘him’ as well.”

Tony blanked. When the Doombots attacked Loki and Peter in an alley… That was _months_ ago! This plan by the mysterious ‘him’.

“And who is ‘he’?” demanded Steve.

“I have not a name, only a title.”

“Speak,” Loki ground out, a thin sheet of ice growing on the ground surrounding his feet. The air temperature dropped a few degrees, but if any of the others noticed the shift, they didn’t say anything.

_“The General.”_

Tony and Steve shared a look, wordlessly understanding that there was only one option. One person who had it out for Loki, who could get into the raft, who could set up the plot, and figure out Peter’s identity.

“Ross,” they agreed unanimously.

* * *

They asked questions relentlessly, each one demanding more detail than the last. How did Ross free you? (Doom had not been conscious at the time). Was there a ward blocking tracking spells on Peter? (Not exactly). 

“Then what is it?” Loki questioned, patience steadily evaporating the longer the interrogation went on. They needed to find Peter. Perhaps Doom would be able to provide useful information, but their priority was finding him. Every second he was missing was another he could—

Loki cut off his train of thought there.

_Focus._

“He has a set of enchanted coins,” the villain explained. “Stolen from the shipment that injured the Thunder God. I integrated them with his technology.”

That explained why Tony’s scanners led them to Latveria.

After squeezing more information out of him about his other bases (there were none), the Captain and Agent Romanoff took Doom back to the surface for pick-up via a United Nations team, while Thor, Tony, and Loki remained below to decide what to do with the last of Doom’s facilities.

“We destroy it,” Loki offered. The solution could not be more obvious. Without a functioning base of operations, Doom would likely not be able to recover from the loss. If he ever managed to escape prison, that was.

“Doom will go back to the Raft,” Tony added. “The other magician is already working on improving the magic restraints.”

Loki rolled his eyes at that. The amateur could not be trusted with even the simplest of tasks. “I’ll assist him with the task after we find Peter.”

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands together, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. “So, who’s going to bring this place down? I can get some fancy explosives and—”

Loki interrupted him: “I’ll do it.”

Thor’s eyebrows drew together. “Are you sure?”

He tilted his head in the direction of the elevator, signalling for them to go.

Thor nodded to Tony, and sparing one last glance at the cavern, strode over to the elevator that would take them back to the surface.

Loki waited ten minutes after seeing his brother and Stark disappear into the elevator before preparing the spell. It was a complicated one, something he’d learned in his teenage years after getting his hands on a book that was definitely off-limits for him. Not that he’d ever heeded those warnings to begin with. Besides, his tutor’s suggestions for reading material were just that. _Suggestions._

Though, perhaps he should have listened considering the gaping hole in his wall that he’d caused after attempting the spell the first time.

_Implosion._

Similar to the technology used by the Dark Elves.

He inhaled deeply, cleared his mind, and let the air out slowly.

The implosion spell contained many moving parts. He had to delay the reaction, so he’d have time to get out of the cavern, he had to set the radius to cover the whole of the base, and pour enough energy into the spell for it to work properly.

The words to the spell came out as hushed whispers, clear and fluent after decades worth of repetition. It took shape in the form of a small glowing orb, idly hovering above his open palms, that held the concentrated energy.

The next part was relatively simple. He set the spell to activate in half a minute, and let it float away. Loki spared one last glance around the cavern for anything that could be considered of use, and teleported out of the cave to the surrounding forested area.

He blinked into existence beside his brother a moment later, breathing slightly laboured due to the sheer amount of energy leaving his body over such a short time span. “Let’s go,” he said, and stalked off in the direction of the jet.

Loki briefly looked over his shoulder to see Stark and Thor staring on in awe as the mountain caved in on itself like a dying star, the matter being sucked into the controlled singularity at its centre.

* * *

It took the Quinjet a little over an hour to reach Ross’s mansion in Pennsylvania. Loki wished desperately that Thor had not insisted on remaining with the Avengers. They were moving too slow, and he could practically hear the clock of Peter’s life ticking down. And yet, all the humans were bumbling around with their “plans”, and “protocols” and “teamwork”. Things to keep a team safe, and yet they were putting Peter in more danger. 

And that was not a calculus Loki agreed with.

He wanted them all to leave; he could find Peter on his own. Maybe if he _had_ to, he would tolerate Thor and Tony accompanying him.

Two people, he could bring worldwalking easily. But more than five? Not a chance. As skilled as he was at the art, even he had his limits.

Besides, the sheer power needed to cast the spell that imploded Doom’s final base took a lot out of him. Not that he would admit that, lest Thor get the idea in his thick skull that Loki should sit this one out. Not a damn chance.

Thankfully, none of the Avengers had the temerity to approach him after seeing the destruction he’d caused at Doom’s base. Logically, Loki knew it had been unwise to reveal the true extent of his abilities like that. The irrational part of him didn’t care. Releasing his tight grip on his seiðr had been… freeing. It released some of the tightly curled anxiety that had been rolling in Loki’s stomach ever since Peter disappeared.

The jet landed a few miles away from the mansion in a field, where, again, Natasha gathered everyone around to insist on having something that at least resembled a plan.

“Ross isn’t Doom,” Steve pointed out, Standing in front of the entrance ramp. “There’s no way he has the same security measures.”

“He’s working with Doom,” Natasha disagreed. “There’s a chance they might have shared some tech.”

“No.”

Four heads turned to Loki with wide eyes.

“No?”

“Doom’s machinations give off a low-reading energy signature. If Ross had any on the property, we would know.”

“Okay,” Tony agreed, clearly liking the idea that they wouldn’t have to plan too much. He looked to Natasha. “Should we be expecting any defences other than normal security?”

“Nothing on the scanners,” she said, flicking around the holographic image with her fingers. “A couple of security cameras and an off-site guard station, but…”

“I’ll take care of the cameras.” Tony pressed a few buttons on the console, and within seconds, declared the AV out of commission.

“Let’s go get this bastard.”

“This is the shoddiest excuse for a plan in the Nine,” Loki mumbled under his breath right as the Avengers began to depart the Quinjet and make way for the mansion. To be fair to their shoddy excuse for a plan, Ross had the shoddiest excuse for a security system ever.

They sneaked in through various entrances, Loki’s magic simply _suggesting_ that they not be seen by the house staff or the guards. Between that and the Black Widow’s frankly terrifying ability to walk silently, getting into the house was not a problem.

Stark’s sensors pinpointed Ross’s location in his study on the second floor, and Loki’s magic quickly confirmed it. They were so close to finding Peter. _So close._

Ross would give up his location, and then everything would return to normal. Hopefully. Though, this time, Loki did not intend to spare the man who had dared to harm his friend. Who had dared to harm a _child._

Quickly, the Avengers converged on Ross’s study—Rogers, Thor, and Stark through the window, and the Widow and Loki through the main door immediately after. The plan was shaky at best, but with two—almost three (Thor was almost at that point)—members of the team insisting on speed rather than caution, the others couldn’t keep up their resolution to be “responsible”, as the Captain put it.

Loki, for one, had never much cared for the so-called “responsible” option, and was not about to. Not when every second meant another where Peter could be hurt or in danger or—

Or—

_Dead._

Loki didn’t dare let himself linger on the thought for more than a second, terrified—not for the first time—of what he would do. What he would do if… if…

“Loki?” Romanoff’s voice startled him out of his thoughts as they ascended the grand staircase, footsteps light and soundless against the antique red and gold carpet. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” he pushed the words through gritted teeth.

Romanoff stopped him at the top of the stairs, and Loki had half a mind to simply push past her. He could deal with Ross on his own, he mused, if it came to that. He didn’t, though, and standing one or two stairs above him, their heights matched, putting them face to face.

At first, Loki had been wary of the assassin; too many similarities between her and Sif, but further interaction proved they could not be more different. As opposed to noble, righteous Sif, Natasha had done questionable things in her past, and strived to do better. In all honesty, he thought, the Black Widow shared more in common with Loki than the shield-maiden.

“You’re not fine,” she differed, crossing her arms, and sidestepping when Loki tried to go around her. If it truly came down to it, he could take her in a fight, but he’d rather not waste the time. Peter could be—

_Stop thinking and focus._

Loki sighed, feigning irritation. “I fail to see how that would be any of your business. Can we get on with it?”

“It’s my business if you’re being reckless and get us all killed.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You are the Avengers. I am certain you will figure _something_ out.” Loki made another attempt to move past her, and she swivelled to let him, but caught his shoulder in her hand. He stiffened beneath the small but strong grip.

“Just… be careful.”

Loki felt his expression spasm, part in confusion, part in surprise. Concern? From _Romanoff_ of all people? Half of him wanted to snap back at her. _Why do you care? Worried your pet supervillain will go feral?_

But an argument would waste time. Time, which was currently invaluable. Every second wasted…

“I will be,” he assured her, and earned a raised eyebrow in return. “Truly. I have no intention to be anything but.”

Her expression of skepticism remained, but they continued sneaking through the house not a moment later.

When they arrived at the locked door to Ross’s study, they crouched by the door, out of sight by magic, and waited for the signal.

Without warning, Loki heard the distinct sharp sound of shattering glass as Thor came through one window, and Stark through another. The Captain followed quickly behind them. Loki stormed into the room in front of Romanoff.

Upon seeing the man responsible for taking his friend, whatever wall Loki had been building to separate his rage from his resolve to remain calm shattered. Perhaps the assassin had been correct. Maybe he wasn’t “fine”.

Within seconds, Loki had the human pinned against the wall by the neck, struggling to breathe. _“Where is he,”_ he growled, summoning a dagger with his free hand.

“Wha—” Ross choked. His eyes flickered wildly between the other Avengers in the room before going back to Loki. “What are you doing!” he scowled at them. “Get this maniac off me!”

None of the others moved, but Loki released the pressure on Ross’ neck, allowing him to breathe, even if it would be for only a few more minutes. He couldn’t very well answer the question if he suffocated to death. Besides. That method of execution was far too merciful for what he’d done. _“Where is he?”_ Loki repeated.

“I don’t… know what—what you’re talking about,” Ross answered, out of breath. His eyes again went to the Avengers, all waiting on standby for… what, Loki wondered. If he went too far? Was there a “too far” in this situation? Well. Mostly on standby. Stark looked rather eager to assist in persuading the man to speak faster. And Thor did not seem to disagree with his methods thus far.

Loki scoffed at him. “Spare your theatrics for someone who might buy them. Tell me where he is, and I may allow you a painless death.”

Ross swore quietly, then looked back to the Avengers. “Someone, arrest him!” he tried to order them, pointing directly at Loki. Nobody moved. “Stark!”

Stark only came to stand by Loki’s side. “Answer the question.”

“You can’t be serious!” Ross protested, gasping for air.

“Answer the question,” he repeated evenly.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!”

“Bull.”

“Stark—”

“Bull. Tell me what you’ve done to my kid, and I’ll let you live out the rest of your sorry life in prison. _Where is he?”_

Confusion momentarily clouded over his features, but it quickly dissolved into recognition. “The Spider-kid,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” Stark snapped. “The “Spider- _kid”._ Apparently, you don’t have a problem kidnapping children Ross. I knew you were a slug, but _this?”_

Ross muttered under his breath, too low for a human to pick up: “He did it. The bastard actually did it.”

“What was that?” Stark asked.

“Who’s “he”?”

“I didn’t realize he would go ahead with it. I told him he was insane, messing with the Avengers.”

_“Who?”_

“I’ve been working with another organization, one that’s intent on bringing down the Avengers.”

Tony groaned quietly. “Of _course,_ there’s _another_ group of baddies out for our blood.”

Ross continued with merely a sharp glance in Tony’s direction. “They work in complete anonymity. I offered them my services—information, mainly—about your activities.”

“And what did you get out of this arrangement?” Natasha questioned, crossing her arms.

“They promised that once you were gone, I’d have my position back.”

Tony scoffed. “You didn’t lose your position because of _us,”_ he corrected. “You got fired because you’re a corrupt scumbag who doesn’t understand the concept of _human rights.”_

Ross shook his head. “But you were the ones that made those allegations. The group I’m working with doesn’t mean to simply kill you all, no. That would be child’s play. No, they mean to _destroy you,_ discredit everything you’ve worked for and drag your name through the mud in a way that would give the public enough reason to completely disregard those allegations you made against me.”

“How?” Loki demanded.

“I don’t know. They meant to use one of your own against you; that’s all I know.”

“Who are they, and who are they planning on using?”

“I don’t trust anonymous sources any more than any sane person would. I did my own research into them.”

_“Names,_ Ross.”

“I don’t have any. Only a location.”

* * *

The trails only led to more trails, each colder than the last. A whispered voice in the back of his mind told him that he would, eventually, run out of trails, that Peter would be lost forever, that he would never find his friend. That he would return to being Thor’s tag-along little brother, only accepted by obligation to his brother.

Loki pushed the mansion’s front doors open with far more force than necessary; the glass panes in the old oak shattered when they came into contact with the brick wall behind the door. He stomped into the driveway curled around an elegant stone fountain; the way the top flared absently reminded him of a similar one in Asgard at the centre of Frigga’s garden.

She’d taught him how to harness his power. How utterly disappointed she’d be in his pathetic lack of control.

That his magic was out of control. Wild. Unruly.

He should be able to control his seiðr. That had come naturally to him as a _child._ But this. _This._

This was not _seiðr._

No. This was not the seiðr that he knew, that he cherished and learned and loved with all his being. This wasn’t the seiðr that made up every fibre of his being, that consumed him and became him and _was him._

No.

_Jotunn magic._

Vile, twisted, awful magic that he wanted nothing to do with. He’d tear it out of himself if he could—if he didn’t think he’d end up killing himself in the process.

And what good was his seiðr now? When he couldn’t use it to find Peter? When the tracking spells had been rendered useless by a stolen case of concealment coins?

And he couldn’t lose Peter. He _couldn’t._

Peter was his proof. His only chance…

If he couldn’t even keep him safe then...

Rage poured out of him in waves, the grass beneath his feet slowly frosting on the tips.

He couldn’t control it, couldn’t get rid of it. He _hated_ it.

Behind him, Loki was vaguely aware of the Avengers piling onto the Quinjet, preparing to depart to somewhere in the human city of Berlin, the capital of one of the nations of this planet.

Loki should join them.

But he couldn’t get his feet to move, heavy and stiff like there were clumps of ice around them (there weren’t, but there may as well have been for his lack of mobility).

Loki strode back up to the house, and took a seat on a bench pressed up against the old stone wall. He needed to calm down, to even his thoughts. Peter needed him to. He would find him.

Loki promised. He promised he would. _Whatever it takes._

“Loki,” said a familiar voice from around the corner. A moment later, Thor showed his face, spotting him on the frail wooden bench. He took a seat with a loud thunk. “Are you okay?”

Loki wanted to snarl, and barely held back from doing so. “What do you _think?”_ he hissed instead.

The windows seemed to cackle behind him as frost started to climb the edges of the glass.

His breathing quickened, and he worried that Thor would be caught in the blast radius of his most recent outburst.

“Loki, you’re fine,” his brother said, calm and soothing as ever. “It’s fine. You need to calm down.”

_“Shut up,”_ Loki hissed at him again, hoping that he would just _go away._ Why wouldn’t he just _go away?_

“Brother, we’ll find him. Be calm. It’s fine. We have—”

“‘Be calm’?” Loki yelled, no longer able—or willing—to keep the snarl from his voice, but he did not take any pleasure in the way that Thor flinched back at his words. “How can you say that?” he asked, softer. His next words came out as a choked sob. “He’s still _missing.”_

“I’m sorry,” Thor, apologized immediately, reaching out for Loki, trying to touch him, only to pull back at the last second. Good. Loki didn’t know if he could deal with Thor’s fraternal affections at the moment. “I understa—”

_“You understand nothing!”_ Loki shot to his feet, the bench rattling and ice crawling up the wall he’d leaned against. He ignored it. ‘ _Understand’._ How could Thor— _Thor_ —possibly understand even an iota of what he was feeling? How could he claim to? “Don’t—don’t you get it?” Loki stuttered, feeling his hands start to shake. They mirrored the sorry state of his voice.

“Get… what?”

Loki swallowed heavily, considered how he should explain— _if_ he should explain. Thor was, well, _Thor._ He wouldn’t—despite what his brother would claim— _understand._ Still. He would listen. Maybe not understand, but he would listen.

His first attempt to speak went poorly; the only sound being a breathless gasp, a desperate plea from his lungs to first _get enough air,_ so he _could_ explain.

“I’ve never had…” he gestured around vaguely in the direction of the jet, _“this.”_

Thor’s eyebrows knitted together.

It took another second before Loki felt he could speak without losing air again. “You have—you have your Avengers. And before that, the Warriors Three and Sif. Hel, Thor—” He gave a pained laugh “—All of _Asgard_ wanted to be by your side from the moment you were born.”

His confession was met only with silence.

“For the longest time, I had _nothing._ No one. And then… Peter. And to him, I was more than just—just your shadow. I wasn’t ‘Loki, brother of Thor’, I was just _Loki. Me.”_

Thor looked physically pained, but slowly stood, and rose to face Loki directly.

Loki continued on, knowing full well that he had drifted into rambling territory: “I could be me, for once, without being _‘ergi’_ for using magic, without being degraded for tricks and mischief. And—and unlike the rest of them, he saw more than just my past.”

Thor took Loki’s trembling hands in his own, squeezing them tightly.

“You don’t get it,” Loki breathed. “If I—If I lose him, I lose my second chance.”

His brother’s expression morphed into puzzlement. “What do you mean, ‘your second chance’?”

Loki took a moment to regain his composure before trying to talk again, bringing into use a breathing technique Peter had taught him. He had used it before, whenever thoughts of his life before coming to Earth came to mind. Thor, gratefully, patiently, waited.

“You know what life was like for me and Asgard. It was constantly being left out of adventures, and if I was to come along, it was only for the endless mocking that would happen between you and the warriors.”

“Loki, I’m sorry—”

The younger stopped him there. He had heard Thor’s apologies before, and accepted them. His brother was better now. That was what mattered. “I know, Thor,” Loki said softly. “And I know that I’ll always have you by my side.” He paused, letting the tense silence hang in the air. “But what I didn’t have were friends to believe in me. Not when…”

Loki didn’t need to finish the thought; Thor understood, his eyes falling to the ground.

“Peter felt like a second chance, like there was someone out there that believed I could be better. If he’s gone…”

Thor pulled him into a hug, face pressed into his neck as warm tears streamed down his face, and Loki knew that even if he didn’t understand personally, he would still be there.

But he had enough experience with his brother to know that, as much as he loved him dearly, Thor wasn’t always enough. He kept that thought to himself.

* * *

“You know it’s a trap, right?”

Stark shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t care. Whoever this is took my kid. If you think I’m going to wait a second longer, Cap, you got another thing coming.”

“I’m not saying we wait forever, just take five minutes to come up with a plan.”

“What could happen in five minutes, Tony?” Romanoff added, joining the Captain’s side.

“He could be killed! We don’t have _time_ to—”

“If they were going to kill him, they would have done it already. It’s clear this is a trap. Let’s just take _five goddamn minutes_ to figure out a way around it.”

The rage didn’t leave his face, but his posture seemed to deflate.

Romanoff seemed to take that as read that he had relented. “Great. So. In terms of security, what are we looking at?”

Tony took a deep breath before answering. “Not much. Cameras with both night-vision and thermal readings, a couple of armed guards, and the electric fence surrounding the factory. Honestly, I was expecting more.”

“Me too,” she admitted. “Which is why there’s no way this isn’t a trap. Someone wants to take out the Avengers. _All_ of us. The only question left, really, is _why.”_

Tony scoffed at that. “Does it really matter why? Other than star-spangled over here, we’ve all pissed off a ton of people.”

“He’s not wrong,” Rogers granted with a heavy sigh. “Tony most of all.”

_“Hey.”_

“Not Stark, actually.” Loki finally stood from where he’d been leaning into the shadows of the corner, trying to formulate a plan on his own that didn’t require the assistance of these bumbling buffoons. “I have likely antagonized more people than any other member of your organization, including—” _but not limited to,_ he didn’t say “—two of the most dangerous individuals on the planet other than yourselves.”

Nobody made a move to disagree.

Though Loki had to grant it was far more likely that Peter had been taken to get to Stark in some way, seeing as most people did not know of the teen’s friendship with Loki. Peter had openly talked about his so-called “Stark Internship” at his school. It would not have been too difficult to deduce a bond between him and the billionaire.

He set the thoughts aside for now, and refocused his efforts on planning.

If they wanted to avoid springing the trap directly on them, they’d have to catch Peter’s captors by surprise. Meaning, a way around those cameras. Theoretically, Loki could weave the glamorous over himself and the others, though… after thoroughly taxing his magic over the past day and a half with little to no sustenance or rest… 

It would strain his magic. Another risk he’d have to take to find Peter.

“Regardless,” he continued, “we still need a plan. I can get us past the cameras, and we can catch them off-guard from the inside. Am I correct in assuming that there are more security personnel outside the building than within?”

“Yeah,” Stark answered. “But we’re getting some… strange feed from the inside. It’s all distorted, see?” A display popped up above his open palm, revealing the inside of the factory. For a second, it seemed rather normal with the heat signatures of people walking around, and the large metal devices that had to be abandoned machinery. Though, the image quickly shifted, the shapes and colours swirling and colliding into harsh geometric shapes.

Loki examined the shapes, the way they flowed. Strangely enough, they reminded him of Vanir magic and how it fluidly morphed from one shape to another.

It came together in a tidal wave of revelation.

“The coins,” he blurted without explanation, and received four very confused glances in return. “From the truck. What if…”

Tony’s eyes widened as his brain caught up with Loki’s train of thought. “They knew he couldn’t hide from my tech with tech, so they hid from it with magic instead.”

“Makes sense,” Romanoff agreed. “Don’t fight fire with fire, fight it with water.”

That was… actually a rather apt analogy.

“So, what do we do about it?” Rogers asked.

Loki pondered the question. Theoretically, he could create a nullifying field in the area, though, depending on the origins and make of the coin, how much power it had been imbued with at the time of its creation… that could be risky, especially considering how low his reserves of magic were at the moment. And it was not as if he would be getting a chance to rest anytime soon.

“I can deal with it if I am close to the source.”

“That easy?”

“Look, we need not alter the plan too much. I can conceal us from sight as we enter the building, and from there you should be able to see the interior with your own eyes. That, the coin cannot hide.”

“Right. Nothing changes.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Suit up, everyone. We go in five.”

Loki, already in full gear, opted to stand by Thor, who’d spent the entirety of their planning session on the phone with Brunnhilde outside the jet. He hung up when he saw Loki coming down the ramp.

“So?” he asked expectantly, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the plan?”

Loki summarized the plan for him in less than thirty seconds, Thor relayed what Brunnhilde had told him of the happenings of New Asgard. Which was to say, that it had been completely uneventful.

“Brother,” Thor said, and by only the tone of his voice, Loki knew he was in for a lecture. “Are you sure you are not overusing your magic?”

Loki didn’t bother to withstand the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Don’t fuss.”

“I am not _fussing,”_ Thor protested, though Loki firmly believed otherwise. “I am worried about you, is all. You’ve hardly eaten anything, and I know for a fact you haven’t slept since Tony called.”

Loki wanted to scoff at him, to insist that he really was _fine._ Because why did Thor bother concerning himself over Loki’s wellbeing while Peter was still missing? While he could be scared injured or—

_Or dead._

He banished the thoughts.

_Focus._

There was one goal here, and that was to find Peter. All else was irrelevant, or could be put off until they found him, including eating, and especially _sleeping._ Not that Loki thought he would have much success with sleeping at all. Not with the anxiety that had taken root in his chest and had refused to leave since that cursed phone call.

“Thor,” Loki said, levelling his gaze at his brother, “I am not some invalid that needs your protection. And I am not incompetent as to be unable to recognize my limits.”

“And _I_ am not a _fool,_ Loki. You’ve used your magic more than usual, haven’t had any rest—” He cut himself off with a scolding huff. “Honestly, brother, you think I don’t know you at all? That I haven’t spent a thousand years fighting and training with you? I can tell when you are pushing yourself.”

“Are you saying I _shouldn’t?_ Peter is still _missing,_ Thor. Until I’ve found him, nothing else matters.”

_“We,_ Loki. Until _we_ ’ve found him.”

“Fine, _we.”_

“I am only asking you to be careful,” Thor said, frowning slightly. “I have lost you many times already, brother. I would prefer not to grieve you a fourth time.” He lightly clasped Loki’s shoulder, then disappeared onto the jet with the others, leaving Loki outside in the mild wind to contemplate his words.

Thor, much to Loki’s chagrin, was not entirely wrong. They’d lost much in the past years, Thor especially considering the number of times he’d seen Loki die (or close enough) in front of him. Loki did not want to put his brother through that again.

Still, Loki could not comprehend why Thor would not prioritize finding Peter over minor concerns about Loki’s health.

He pressed the toe of his boot into the dirt as he thought, and the answer came to him in less than a second. To each of them, the other was the only family they had left. Thor had already lost everything after Thanos. Losing Loki again…

He decided to cut his thoughts off there, unwilling or unable to contemplate what would happen to his brother if he made him live through Loki’s death again.

* * *

The kidnappers had been working out of an abandoned apartment building in Berlin. According to the records, the builder had lost most of their money dealing with unexpected fees and permits, and was forced to sell the half-completed skeleton to a Mr. Kevin Bell, who hadn’t bothered continuing the project. The property changed hands five times more before ending up in the hands of Sam Reyes, a person who—upon further investigation—didn’t exist.

When Stark did a scan of the building, it seemed as though it was less skeletal than they had originally thought. There were three sublevels completed. Three sublevels that couldn’t be scanned due to the thickness of the concrete surrounding them and the strange other-worldly interference.

Magic, likely a foul warding crafted by Doom and his ability to intertwine technology and magic. Loki knew it would not be too difficult to unweave the crudely made wards. After all, so much energy was lost in the transition between the natural and the artificial that the spells could hardly be called efficient.

The enemy knew this, of course. Doom knew this, so they did as well.

Thus, this was, most likely, a trap. The logical, reasoning part of his brain insisted that he should take the time to figure out a way around this, to not embark on a dubbed “Thor Plan”, which exclusively involved charging with a showy display of might. The sleep-deprived, anxious, and (probably) mad part of him didn’t care at this point. They were too close to get caught up on the minutiae of the plan.

Despite being abandoned for years, the skeleton of the apartment building was still closed off as a construction zone. Of course, the Avengers would have no problems with flimsy chain-link fences and store-bought padlocks. Though, there was also the issue of subtlety to deal with—something both Stark and Thor blatantly lacked.

They would need to be quiet and stealthy.

Loki cast the glamour over the Avengers, concealing them not only from sight, but masking their sounds and heat signatures while still allowing them to hear and see each other. Natasha claimed the spell would be invaluable to teamed missions in espionage, and Stark agreed to work with Loki on developing some tech for her once all this was over. The fairly complicated spell was one he’d done many times before, but with his magic already lower than he was comfortable with… It was more strenuous than he would have liked.

It held as they approached the site, and Stark cut a hole in the wire fence for the on-foot Avengers to get through. From there, the team split to take out the guards. 

Natasha used a blow to the neck that would leave the guards standing, but unconscious. Loki made a mental note to ask her about that later.

With no guards standing in their way, the process of actually entering the building was easy. Loki, close enough to the source of the magic blocking Stark’s tech, wove tendrils of his own seiðr between the threads of the coins’ magic. He began the task of unweaving them, slowly and methodically, as to not disrupt any readings within the building. Soon, the blanket of concealment that had been shielding the premises from Stark’s sensors vanished, and he disabled their security without issue.

Finally into the building, Loki looked around, taking note of the faint trace of Vanir magic in the air that was mixed with another’s magic, familiar and hostile. Doom’s, as expected.

Still, Loki couldn’t help but feel he’d missed the trap part of this. Other than the faint magical residue the enchantment had left, there was no more magic in the area, either hostile or benign. The trap could still be of a mechanical nature, though Loki left that up to Stark to deal with, partly due to his lack of energy, and partly because the human would know what to look for when it came to machines.

After determining the area was as free of traps of both magical and technological nature, the Avengers quietly made their way through the lowest floor of the building, what humans would consider the “lobby”. Searing fluorescent lights hung overhead. The air felt suffocating, like it wasn’t air at all, but water, pushing down on all sides, the pressure slowly killing him.

But the pressure wasn’t in the room; it was in his chest.

Loki inhaled slowly, counting until he reached four, then exhaled until seven. It was a breathing technique—one Peter had taught him—to help with tension. He hadn’t realized until then that something as simple as breathing could have such an effect on his mind.

The building was suspiciously devoid of people. The linoleum tiled floors shined, free of scuff marks and scratches as if nobody had ever walked on them. The entire place looked completely sterile with stark white walls, glossy tiles, and those unbearably bright lights. But no people.

Stark stopped them all momentarily, and displayed a holographic model of the ground floor that hovered above his open palm. A few blobs of orange and yellow stood out on the blue. Heat signatures. Those were the guards, sparsely, but strategically placed among the twisting hallways.

The Captain and Romanoff uploaded the schematic to their devices, while Loki took the time to commit it to memory.

“We split up here,” Rogers said. “There are seven guards on this floor. We don’t want any of them to surprise us from behind, so we’ll split up and take them out. Clear?”

A wave of nods passed over the group.

Despite each having a communication device on their person, none of them needed to call in for backup. The guards were poorly equipped, and they hardly posed a challenge for the battle-hard Avengers. In less than two minutes, they were all outside the stairwell leading to the basement.

Before Loki could open the door, the imposing figure of the Iron Man suit accosted him. “We need a plan,” Stark said, voice slightly distorted through the suit. He held his palm open in front of him, and Loki took a step back, so the others could see the outline of the basement’s winding hallways. Seven yellow-orange heat signatures were walking around, most of them gathered around what looked to be a central console of some sort. Another stood in the middle of an empty space, and the final one was off to the side, and seemed to be taking notes on a tablet or something.

But Loki’s mind snagged on the number of people present.

_Seven._

What kidnapper could organize an operation this large with a cast of seven?

Either the person organizing this was incredibly skilled or… Or this was another trap they’d been led to, and Peter had already been moved.

He inhaled sharply again when he realized that none of the signatures matched Peter’s; the Spider bite had given the boy a distinct though harmless radioactive emission. But it wasn’t there.

_Peter wasn’t there._

Before Loki’s mind collapsed into full rage or panic mode—he couldn’t tell which—Rogers stepped forth and demanded they not go charging in like idiots. They quickly planned to have Loki and Natasha go in first—they were the best at the stealth aspects—to figure out what exactly it was that they were doing down there.

Loki pushed open the doors and descended the narrow concrete stairs to basement level one. Natasha followed on his heels; Rogers, Stark, and Thor being as quiet as they could behind her.

The underground was even sparser than the ground level. There were no fluorescent lights. In fact, there was hardly any lighting at all save for the bluish tinge of the generator’s emergency lights. The tiles were gone as well, replaced with a singular smooth slab of concrete to match the walls. It didn’t look dirty, or run down, just bare and dark.

Natasha made a gesture with her hand that Loki only caught out of the corner of his eye, and Stark took that as a signal to stay at the foot of the stairs and remain on guard.

Loki stalked silently down the hall, using a mixture of natural skill and magic to keep his footsteps soundless. Though, he tried to stick to the former; he’d had plenty of practice with that, sneaking around the palace on Asgard to cause mischief and chaos wherever possible. Besides, his seiðr had been depleted far more than he would feel comfortable with when going on a mission.

But this was no ordinary mission. Peter’s life was at stake, and Loki would be damned—would damn himself—if he failed because of his own weakness.

Natasha was just as skilled as he was when it came to moving quietly but swiftly, and they soon approached the only populated room in the basement. They had not encountered a single door as they crept through, and again, there was not one to block their entrance. Though, the entrance way was in the corner of the room, so they could use the wall as cover while listening into their conversation.

“—Double the power, and run it again,” an unfamiliar voice said. Male, American, adult, Loki noted.

“You want me to double it up?” a second voice asked.

“Yeah.”

Loki surreptitiously looked around the corner, observing the scene before him. Six mannequins stood on one side of the room. On the opposite side, there was a console with five others standing at varying distances behind it—the source of the voices. A glass shield was placed in front of them, protecting them from the debris of… 

_Whatever_ they were doing just standing around the console like that.

More importantly, there was _Peter._ Gagged and tied in the corner across the room. He looked unharmed, and Loki could tell he was breathing, though each inhale seemed strained. He was still wearing his pyjamas of all things, and his hair looked worse than Thor’s when Loki had first seen him after returning from the dead. Perhaps that was an exaggeration.

Without waiting for the others to get into position, Loki stepped forward, already beginning to weave an illusion around himself.

Natasha caught his arm and pulled him back before he’d stepped away from the wall. She forced him to look at her, and shook her head warningly. _Trap,_ she mouthed.

Loki narrowed his eyes at her, and she let go of him. He whispered softly: “They cannot trap me if they cannot see me.”

She shook her head again, fiercely this time, but Loki didn’t bother listening to her protests. He finished the glamour that concealed him from eyes and ears, and stepped away from the corner, leaving Natasha to glance around furiously for any hint of him.

It was not as if he had an actual plan of attack once he freed Peter. That _was_ the entirety of the plan— _free Peter._ But what came after? Get him to safety, then deal with the kidnappers, whatever ‘deal with’ entailed.

Though, that might prove more difficult than he had originally thought. The casting of both glamours took more out of him than he would like to admit, but alas, he could rest after Peter was safe.

Neither the humans by the console nor the two standing in the middle of the room had given any hint of noticing his presence, and Loki made his way over to Peter without interruption. The boy did not move when Loki got close, barely moved at all, in fact, aside from his heavy breathing, which struck him as odd.

Loki would hardly describe his friend as subtle; Peter had never been able to keep secrets well, always giving himself away with his body language, if not frequently speaking them aloud. And he should have noticed Loki coming up to him, right? His spider-sense told him these sorts of things.

Perhaps they’d drugged him to tamper with those senses, he thought, and rage boiled up in him anew, threatening to overflow and drown the whole city if his suspicion was proved correct. He pushed it down and focused his mind on the singular task of freeing Peter. Once he was safe, he could take out two days’ worth of anger on these unfortunate souls.

Loki knelt in front of him, keeping the invisibility, but dropping the spell that muffled the surrounding sounds. “Don’t react,” he whispered softly, and—defying Loki’s expectations—Peter didn’t move at all. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

He manoeuvred around Peter to reach for his cuffs—reinforced steel with an encrypted lock system, courtesy of the Raft, probably. Or, more accurately, Ross. A flare of anger shot up, but Loki ignored it, recalling that the General would spend the rest of his days behind bars in his own aquatic prison along with Doom and anyone else who had hurt his friend.

Loki reached for the cuffs—intending to send them to his dimensional pocket, the easiest way to be rid of them—only for his hand to fall right through them in a shimmer of blue light.

_An illusion._

_But… how?_

There was not a trace of magic remaining in the area apart from the faint residue of the coin. Doom’s involvement remained a possibility, but illusions had never been his specialty. And even if that were the case, Loki would have been able to sense his aura through the spell.

So, _how?_

Slow clapping sounded from behind him, startling Loki out of his hypothesizing. His head shot up, eyes falling on one of the humans who had been behind the console. He was walking towards him, smiling smugly, despite there being no way for him to know where Loki was; the invisibility spell held.

“Congratulations,” the man drawled, halting the clapping.

Loki dropped the spell in favour of bringing forth a dagger from his dimensional pocket, and hurtling it at the man’s shoulder. Not aiming to kill, merely to incapacitate. It soared straight through.

_Another illusion._

Rage bubbled up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him. He shoved it down, kept a firm hold on his magic; he couldn’t afford to be flippant with it again—especially not _now._

Something in the air shifted, and Loki could hear the low hum of mechanical engines whirring.

_Doombots?_ he pondered, questioning the extent of the man’s alliance with Doom. But no, that made no sense. Still, there was not a trace of magic in the air.

Thor’s voice called out suddenly as his oaf of a brother rounded the corner, Stormbreaker in hand. _“Loki!”_

He had half a second to throw up a shield before the bullets rained down around him. The scent of ozone and smoke filled the air as Thor’s lightning lit up the room, temporarily blinding any who looked at it directly. Loki could smell metal burning, and he knew whatever contraptions the man had been using were now smouldering pieces on the ground.

Within a second, Stark spurred into action, repulsors lighting up. Romanoff and the Captain were right behind him. Loki took another two daggers from his dimensional pocket and joined them, dropping the shield as he did so—opting to use daggers to conserve his dangerously low reserves of magic.

With the smoke clearing slowly, Loki could make out the shapes of the machines.

_Drones._

There were around fifty of them, attacking in clusters that regrouped and retaliated every time one of the Avengers took a couple out.

But this man had clearly underestimated their abilities. Or perhaps made the mistake of assuming there would be fewer of them present.

Regardless, between the five of them, they had the drones down in less than two minutes. In no small part because Natasha had been crafty enough to disable the vast majority of them using the control panel at the far side of the room. When the last drone fell to the ground in two pieces, sliced in half by Loki’s daggers, the remainders of the illusions shattered. In shimmers of blue, one kidnapper was revealed in the corner of the room. The others must have scattered at some point in the chaos.

Loki stalked toward the last man and shoved him against the wall. He raised his dagger to the man’s neck.

The man let out a small ‘oof’ as he hit the concrete beam, huffing a choked laugh, and he clawed at Loki’s hand with his nails.

Loki hardly felt it underneath the rage in his chest that was threatening to boil over the surface, killing the man here and now. But alas. He knew where Peter was, and that was more important than satisfying his own desire for revenge.

“Where is he?” Loki snarled at him.

“You really think I’m going to tell you?”

The edge of the dagger pressed harder against the skin of his throat and drew a thin line of blood as he swallowed.

Loki was vaguely aware of Stark coming up on his left. The nanites of the helmet made a light humming sound as they receded into the suit.

“I know you, don’t I?” Stark declared, one finger outstretched at him. “You worked on the BARF project.”

_What?_

Was that what this was about? A man getting revenge on Stark for a slight related to some business venture by _kidnapping a child?_

Loki felt a sudden urge to scream in frustration.

_That_ of all things was what had caused this? A _petty, pathetic_ cause for so much harm.

“Beck, right?” Stark asked, smirking slightly when the man—Beck, apparently—narrowed his eyes at the billionaire. “You wanted to use the tech for weapons, if I’m not mistaken. Is that why you took Peter? To get back at me? Instead of facing me, you kidnapped a child like an absolute _coward—”_

Beck’s eyes didn’t break away from Tony’s, despite the former being pinned to the wall like a fly. “Maybe in the beginning, that’s what I wanted, to hurt you.” He quirked his head to the side, almost as if to say, ‘oh well’, and continued: “But wouldn’t it be so much better to take your place, rather than just get one good shot in? I mean, if I just wanted to get revenge, wouldn’t it have been so much easier to kill him?”

Loki only saw red. “If you hurt him—”

“Relax. The kid’s fine. Promise. Can’t very well give away my only bargaining piece. I’m the only one who knows where he is.”

“Where is he?”

“Still not saying. Don’t worry, your little protege superhero is unharmed.”

The looks of mixed confusion, fear, and anger only made Beck huff another laugh.

“Don’t know how he hid it for this long. His alter-ego, I mean, anyone with a decent pair of eyes can see it.”

_No._ He couldn’t know that. He _couldn’t._ Only the Avengers knew. And Peter’s aunt and Ned. But none of them would ever betray Peter’s trust like that.

Beck looked somewhat smug as he explained: “Even with your guys’ help, there are traces everywhere. Blood at the crime scene, for example.”

But Tony’s database was unhackable. Loki was quite sure. True, his experience in the field of computer programming was rather limited, but he understood the basics. Enough to understand that Stark’s programs were unparalleled by any other company or individual.

“My security is—”

“Is impenetrable,” Beck interrupted, sighing deeply. “I know. I’ve tried. But you know what _isn’t?_ Hospital records. Police databases. The school keeps records of absences. A smart enough AI, and it took less than two weeks.”

Loki cursed internally. Was it truly so simple to learn Peter’s identity?

“What do you want?”

“I want to save the Avengers,” Beck declared, and received five very confused stares in return.

“By kidnapping Peter?” Tony challenged incredulously, stepping forward in a way that promised violence should his questions go unanswered.

_“Exactly.”_

“How does _kidnapping_ Peter ‘save the Avengers’?” Loki demanded, impatience growing.

“I’ve been trying to save them for _months,”_ Beck said instead of answering directly. “Unfortunately, there have been some… complications. I never expected it to be easy—don’t get me wrong. It’s never easy to do what needs to be done. But I never thought it would come to _this.”_

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His eyes flicked between the Avengers, avoiding Loki completely, who backed off slightly. The man had nowhere to run; the Avengers surrounded him on all sides. “You aren’t what you used to be,” he said. “You’re irresponsible. Incompetent. Just look at what happened with Thanos, if you need an example.”

Loki flinched back, fists clenching tightly with his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms.

“Too busy fighting each other to do what needed to be done. The world needs new heroes.”

“And that’s—what? _You?”_ Tony challenged, pointing an accusing finger at the smirking kidnapper. “Sorry to break it to you, but _kidnapping children_ doesn’t exactly fit the hero persona.”

“Oh, you don’t need to be a good _person_ to be a hero, no. That’s not how that works.” Beck paused, smiling like he had all the answers in the world. “After all, you were hardly a ‘good person’ before Iron Man, weren’t you, Stark? You were the Merchant of Death before you were a hero. Know what changed that?”

Tony, for once, stayed silent.

“A _villain._ A _story._ Stane, Vanko, Killian—Doesn’t matter who. A villain is what makes a hero.”

“You’re wrong.”

“All of your precious Avengers have killed people. Even righteous _Captain America._ I haven’t. See? The world needs better heroes.”

“There are a few good candidates. Doom, North Korea—we even considered making up our own. Would have been easier to fight, at any rate. Still. Your supervillain friend is the best choice, literally staring us right in the face.”

Loki went completely rigid. The room felt smaller than it actually was, like the walls were closing in on him, and he would run out of air, air which was filling rapidly with the strong scent of ozone.

_Thor._

“Loki’s not a villain,” the Thunder God all but growled.

“See that’s where you’re wrong. In the mythology, it says he starts Ragnarok.”

“That isn’t true,” Thor said sharply, sparks catching around his fingertips.

“Still, you gotta wonder why Asgard blew up.” Beck shrugged. “And I heard a little rumour that he was working with Thanos way back when aliens stormed through a portal above New York’s skyline.”

“Where is he.” The snarl in Loki’s voice startled Stark beside him.

“You won’t find him without my help.” Beck smirked again, and Loki was losing his resolve not to kill him here and now.

He asked again. _“Where is he?”_

“You can question me all you want. I won’t tell you.”

“Would you like to test that theory?”

As the words left his mouth, an idea came to mind, one that he’d buried down in the darkest corners. One he’d hoped would never come to light because of its nature. He disagreed with mind magic on a fundamental level, ever since what happened with—

But surely an exception could be made.

Or would sifting through memories only prove how irredeemable he truly was? Doing to someone else the very thing that had destroyed him and led him to destroy others?

Loki’s mind split between panic and rage and tilted between the two like a boat at sea during a storm, listing side to side on the waves. It swayed to panic, wondering how the human acquired this information, then back to rage as he insisted that it didn’t matter. Beck had harmed Peter, put his identity at risk, and stolen him away from his friends.

The thought started small, but it did not stay that way. He was going to kill this man. Slowly. Painfully. For daring to go after his friend on his lunatic plot to become a hero. There was no one standing in his way. The Avengers stood behind or beside him. They would not reach him in time should he decide to put a dagger through the man’s eye this very second.

His fist tightened around the handle of the dagger, a comforting presence in his hand.

_Priorities first._ Loki needed to know where Peter was, then he could exact his vengeance.

He stepped forward, quickly enough that even the Black Widow couldn’t prevent the palm of his hand from slamming into Beck’s forehead, triggering the mental link between the two. The human didn’t stand a chance against him, his mind falling in less than a second. A wave of images and information washed over him, and the feeling of _wrongness_ hit so hard that Loki had to fight to keep himself from panicking and tearing apart the human in the process.

There was too much information all at once, like the floodgates had opened, and now he was seeing the man’s entire life condensed into mere seconds. Loki focused his search on Peter, for any mention or sight of his friend. Without a great deal of prompting, an image flashed—Peter on the concrete floor of what Loki knew to be the second basement level, only one floor down.

He broke the mental link as hurriedly as he’d initiated it, and Beck was left gasping on the floor with both his hands clutching at his forehead. “What… what did you do to me?”

The Avengers were surrounding him, standing at various states of alertness. Thor seemed to be shocked silent. Stark was offering meaningless words of protest. Romanoff watched with her usual mask of neutrality. Rogers was frantically asking what Loki had done to him.

Loki shut them all up with one sentence. “I know where he is.”

The silence echoed through the room, broken only by Beck’s heavy breathing.

The urge to kill Peter’s kidnapper came back in full force, slamming into him like a tidal wave. Now that Beck had nothing, no information to dangle over their heads, nothing to keep him safe, Loki could, and would, obliterate him until not even his ashes had ashes.

His hand tightened on the dagger, and his seiðr bubbled angrily beneath the surface. Nobody was standing in his way, and there was nothing to stop him.

Except…

Except for the one person who wasn’t here. _Peter._ And his insistence that there was always a better way than killing, always a better way than violence. And since he already knew where Peter was, since the danger of losing his friend was mostly over, maybe violence wasn’t necessary.

Loki towered over the human, rage cooling slightly, but nowhere near entirely. “Consider yourself lucky,” he said, “that you did not kill my friend. I can assure you that had that occurred, there would be nothing in all the Nine Realms that could save your pathetic self from my wrath.

“And, if you made the mistake of assuming the Avengers would help you and your cause, I can safely say that any of them would help _end_ you.

“Stark,” Loki said, satisfied that Beck knew what would happen should he step out of line from here. “Peter is one level below us.”

After another second of silence as Stark’s sensors scanned the said area, he declared: “One life signature down there.”

Loki had the spell ready in less than a second.

He had a location and an image, and he knew exactly where Peter was. The spell was one he’d performed countless times. Despite his dangerously low levels of magic, Loki teleported to Peter.

* * *

Peter’s shoulder had been hurting for the last hour. Maybe multiple hours. It was kind of impossible to tell how much time had passed when everything was pitch black and had been since he’d woken up in this room. His arms were tied behind his back, looped around a metal pole or something like that, and he’d already tried everything imaginable to get out, wrists rubbed raw on the cuffs, that he couldn’t break with sheer force.

There didn’t even seem to be a door to the room. If there was one, no light shone under the door. And nobody had come to provide food or anything, which was really starting to become a problem thanks to his faster-than-average metabolism.

The dark was the real problem though. At the beginning it was all right; he just closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, trying to figure out how big the room was. But even his spider-sense was mostly useless in that regard. It just kept screeching at him that this was a trap, and it took Peter some time to figure out that it wasn’t him that had fallen for it; he was the _bait._

For whom, he did not yet know, though he had his suspicions. Most notably, Tony, who’d go to the ends of the Earth to find him if he knew Peter was in trouble. But it was Tony. He was smart. He wouldn’t go rushing into an obvious trap. Well. _Probably_ wouldn’t, at least.

Peter felt his spider-sense flare in warning a split-second before familiar waves of magic flooded the room. But he knew that magic, and his extra sense quickly got over the suddenness of it—only to latch onto something else.

The trap had been sprung. And Loki was caught in the middle of it.

A light glow from whatever teleportation spell Loki had used lingered, and brightened the room slightly. Though the walls remained a stygian shade of black, completely absorbing what little light the magic gave off.

With the glimmer of light, Peter could see the outline of his friend through the darkness. Loki seemed to spot him at the same time, eyes adjusting quickly.

“Loki!” Peter called as the god made his way over, almost stumbling slightly. He seemed shaky, out of sorts. “Loki, it’s a trap.”

Loki knelt down beside him, beginning to work on the cuffs behind his back. Peter couldn’t tell if they were the classic lock-and-key type, or the digital kind. He just hoped whatever magic Loki was using worked.

“No need to worry, Spiderling. The trap was a few stories above where we are now. The Avengers are here as well. We already dealt with it,” Loki said breathlessly.

“No, you don’t understand,” Peter got the words out in a rush, skipping over half the syllables as the cuffs came undone with a click. “The trap is _here.”_

As soon as the words left his mouth, the walls engulfed in blackness melted into blue glimmers. Even through the darkness, Peter could see the terror that came over his friend’s face. There was a split-second between the moment Loki summoned a glowing shield and the walls seemed to rain fire on them.

The world was hot blue chemical fire, and though the shield protected them from the flames, it didn’t account for lack of oxygen. Huddled in the continually shrinking dome of magical energy, it quickly became difficult to breathe, and it was clear that Loki was struggling, sweat pouring down the side of his face, eyes clenched shut in concentration. Which was… odd.

Peter had heard stories from both gods of how Loki had travelled the Nine Realms, bouncing between planets with only his own magic to guide him. A shield shouldn’t have drained his magic so quickly, right?

“Loki?” Peter asked, voice trembling slightly.

“I’m fine,” Loki panted. “I just… don’t do well with heat.”

A subtle shift in his spider-sense alerted Peter to the presence of more people in the room—all at once, and all trustworthy. _The Avengers._

The drones came crashing down around them, and the second the flames dissipated, the shield dropped, and Loki with it. The god fell to his hands and knees, coughing raggedly.

Peter panicked. Was Loki okay? What had happened? Had his kidnappers poisoned him or something?

“Loki? _Loki!”_

Thor was beside him in the next second, anxiously hovering over his brother.

Tony was stepping out of the Iron Man suit and pulling Peter into a hug, whispering reassurances in his ear. That he was safe now.

And he knew he was fine now, safe, uninjured, back with his friends and family, but… what had it cost?

* * *

This was not the first time Peter had been waiting in the medbay of Stark Tower. He’d been here just after the battle against Thanos, just after coming back from the dead, waiting for news on whether Tony was going to live. He’d been here after being attacked by Doombots. Or, rather, what he’d thought were Doombots, at the time. Turned out the kidnapper—Quentin Beck was his name—had this plan in the works for a while, and that little scuffle in the alleyway was part of his master villain scheme.

He’d been here with Thor after the shipment of magic stuff was attacked—also by the same guy. Crazy, he thought, how the Avengers always seemed to end up here, their first home base.

And now that he was technically one of them—Tony’s proclamation aboard the alien spaceship definitely counted—it only made sense that he’d end up here pretty often too.

Especially when he couldn’t sleep, which was more often than not these days. Peter was more than happy to return home to normal life, lying low for a while as his alter-ego took a much-needed rest. But he felt more like an entity that just drifted between worrying about Loki, and doing anything that wasn’t sleep.

The smallest things reminded him of his friend, like walking past a bagel shop on his way to school. Like the smell of May’s tea in the morning, or just a simple news report on New Asgard.

He avoided sleep like the plague. There wasn’t really a point in trying anyways, a lot of the time. He would just lay awake, staring at the ceiling or any other random things in his room, listening to the sound of honking cars and the other sounds of the city. His spider-sense, once a trusted friend, didn’t seem to want him to sleep either. It set off alarm bells at the slightest movement—May walking down the hall to the bathroom in the middle of the night, a dog barking outside.

So, Peter took to spending nights at Stark Tower, sometimes watching movies with the Avengers, sometimes just doing his homework while Tony fiddled with something in the lab, sometimes working on improvements for the suit. He just needed to be with _someone,_ and Tony understood, filling the silence with rambling and new designs and anything and everything else.

But most of the time he was there to visit Loki.

Thor was an almost constant visitor, absent from the room for no more than a couple of hours per day when Natasha forced him to eat and sleep. But most of the time he just did those things in Loki’s room too.

The thunder god told him that, despite Peter’s earlier suspicions, Loki wasn’t poisoned, he just overused his magic to a dangerous degree. According to what Loki had told him in the past, when a mage drains their seiðr, it starts to draw on their life force, and that was what had happened to Loki.

That explanation did not reassure Peter in the slightest. “Draw on their life force” sounded an awful lot like dying, and Peter—he didn’t even want to _think_ about what would happen if Loki had _died._

He let out a long breath, and sank into the comfortable chairs in Loki’s room. Tony had gotten them after he realized that if he couldn’t stop Thor and Peter from sleeping there overnight, he could at least make sure they wouldn’t have back problems at the end of all this.

Loki was still sleeping, as he had been for the past week and a half. Thor said that he would be sleeping for a while longer to replenish his magic, which made sense. As long as he got better, as long as there wasn’t any lasting damage, Peter was fine with that.

* * *

Peter wasn’t with Loki when he woke up the first time. He was in math class, doing the quadratic formula for the first time in school, even though he’d been using it for years already in other various science projects and things.

Thor was with Loki, at least, and according to him, it wasn’t a very peaceful waking. Loki’d had some apparently horrifying experiences with having his magic drained, so it took a while to convince him that everything was fine.

Peter got a call from Tony the minute the school bell rang to inform him, and he donned the suit to swing to Stark Tower faster than the subway could ever take him. He knew Loki was fine, that he was alive, but he needed to see him with his own eyes.

Just for confirmation.

And to tell him how stupid he had been while 

Half-jogging, half-walking, Peter burst into the room, startling everyone inside. Loki was sitting up and reading a thick, leather-bound book that looked like it was from the Victorian age or something. He was paler than usual, and a little thin, but otherwise unharmed and healthy.

Peter let out a long sigh of relief, and bounded over to the side of the bed to give him a hug. It felt a little awkward, with Loki sitting down and slightly tense, but they made it work.

Peter had a lot he needed to tell him. Most notably that he shouldn’t have been so reckless, and that he wasn’t allowed to die. It just seemed to be a curse that followed him around everywhere. First his parents, then Uncle Ben, and only about a year ago, Tony. He couldn’t lose anymore.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said after a while, breaking away slowly from the hug he’d entrapped Loki in. “But please don’t risk your life for me like that again.”

By taking a step back, Peter could see Loki’s expression, which rested somewhere between confused and suspicious.

“What?”

Loki frowned slightly before he answered, “What did you expect me to do, Spider? You were in danger. I could not simply sit back and let the others handle it.”

“That’s not it,” Peter replied. “You were reckless. That’s the problem.”

Loki shrugged carelessly.

Something within Peter broke at his friend’s nonchalance about his own near-death experience. “How can you be this careless with your life! You could have _died!”_

Loki didn’t say a word for a minute, green eyes flickering around the room, landing anywhere but Peter.

“I can’t lose any more people in my life, Loki. _Please,_ just… be careful. You’re my friend, Loki. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Peter caught the faint trace of a smile dance over Loki’s lips. “You’re my friend too, Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end of this story! I've really appreciated all the support I've been getting! Stay safe everyone :))

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All kudos/comments are loved!
> 
> Pinterest board [here.](https://www.pinterest.ca/Sundial_at_Night/let-me-know/)
> 
> Or you can find me on [Tumblr](https://sundial-at-night.tumblr.com/).


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